


The Troubadour (Already Married-- Version 2)

by MonikersAndSobriquets



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adoption fraud, Bisexual Female Character, Burlesque, Canon Compliant, Dominance and Submission, Drug Addiction, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Gen, Marriage Reveal, Multi, Musical References, Other, Post-Canon, Prostitution, Queerplatonic Relationships, Secret Marriage, traveling performers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-13 04:50:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 106,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14742299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonikersAndSobriquets/pseuds/MonikersAndSobriquets
Summary: For the past sixteen months Sherlock has struggled with sobriety, and has been able to stay clean for the past eight. The struggle is made all the more difficult as the number of cases walking through the door continue to diminish. John Watson hasn't been able to bring himself to return to his blog after Mary died, and so the limelight has dimmed. London has all but forgotten the once famous detective, his media presence having diminished so much.Although there are people who recognize him, it's mostly only if he wears 'the hat' and even then it is rare. On a slow day, after several slow days before, concern for Sherlock slipping again elevates. This is the longest he has been clean, but John, and indeed all of the friends Sherlock has enlisted to help recognize the signs. John is attempting to both distract and entertain Sherlock when Molly reaches out saying that a musical group Sherlock had shared with her is here. Here at the fountain. Here in London. Here about to perform in the street. So John, Sherlock and Mrs Hudson all go to meet Molly to watch the group.It is here that they meet several people, including someone whose importance was always there, but never known. Until Now.





	1. Before, and Now

**Author's Note:**

> This is a ROUGH draft. I do intend to go back and correct grammar errors, and offer my apologies.

## Prelude: Twelve Years... Almost

_A woman stands in a gorgeous dress of intricate white and gold. The firm front and corset lift her bosom up higher, close to her throat, showing olive-toned skin. A shift just peeks from the dress, a blue bow peeking. Vast amounts of skirt are gathered around her hips, hiding the natural shape but by adding ample curvature. An ornate Shakespearean costume, almost sheer sleeves from the shift beneath. Her hair hangs in long waves down her back. A flower is in her hair._

_Her hands sit in striking contrast with the hands they rest in. While her hands are darker, a gently toasted color, the hands that take hers are pale._

_“I vow on this December day,” says a neutral American accent, “to be committed to you and only you. To build a marriage that is entirely our own, without sacrificing any of who we are. I will ask not any sacrifice of your self, your way of life, and all that makes you all that you are. I will never ask sacrifice of you, because it is all of these things that I love. I promise to not sacrifice who I am either, and to remain as suborn, independent, and ridiculous as the day you met me. I take nothing from you and give you only something small. I give my hand in marriage to your capable hands. It is a small thing to give, but there is only one of it, and once it is given, I will not take it back. A small thing, yet even to us, it is meaningful. I give you commitment, Will. Marriage. It is the palace in your mind that will be my home, until the day I die. It is your heart that will beat the harmony to my own. It is my body that you will never own, but you will always be the first I let get close to. I do not give you myself. Not even a little. But I give you a vow. This vow. Our marriage will be confidential. Of course, it will. It is kept close to the chest, our true feelings on so much. We know what it means to value a secret that can be kept. A mystery to be solved. A game unlike any other. A marriage would have to live in a secret place, because that’s where your metaphorical heart lives. And it’s where mine lives. From this day forward, I, Julianna Dawson, and every name I will pen to myself, and every name that will be or has been bestowed to me, will be married to you. I will be your wife, and from this day forward, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, will be my husband.”_

_She grins wryly at him. “nope not done.” She says. “one last thing. I cannot promise this part Will, but I believe it. I believe you will be my favorite person, in all this world. You are my favorite person. my favorite of so many people I have met, and I have met many. I will meet many more, and with each person I meet the likelihood technically reduces, but I still believe you will be my favorite. Every day of my life I believe this will be so, and I have a level of faith on the matter that is illogical. But that’s love, isn’t it? We are a good match. I know you. but I love you because I do. Whenever you want to admit my vows kicked your vows ass—”_

_“Do you ever stop talking?” says Sherlock. His pale eyes roll before finding hers. He looks down at her hands._

_“It’s okay. I know one day you’ll want to do it again in England and everything.”_

_“No, I won’t—”_

_“Yes, you will. And you can win that round of vows.” She says grinning._

_“Anyway.” He says pretending annoyance. “Can you...” he says looking at the officiant with impatience._

_“By the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you, husband and wife. you may now kiss the bride.”_

_Sherlock takes a hand from hers and moves it to the woman’s face, his fingers in her hair the heel of his palm against her jaw, his thumb between her ear and her cheekbone. He looks down at her softly._

_“Thank you.” he says softly._

_“Thank me once it’s consummated. No reason to thank me twice.” She says winking._

_“Shut up.” he says. She smiles up at him, her smile mischievous. His expression is amused, and his eyes look tenderly down at her before he kisses her softly. Despite the allusion she makes, the kiss is chaste._

_The sound of a camera flashes._

* * *

 

_The woman slides the shift back over her body, sitting on the edge of the bed, the bow now untied. The shift has a stitched in pattern, but it doesn’t make the material less sheer. She’s naked beneath it, and it’s clear she is as she stands._

_“Why even bother putting that on if it’s going to leave nothing to the imagination?” asks Sherlock laying under the sheet, turned toward her._

_“What’s the point of leaving something to the imagination when you’ve not only seen it, but fiddled around inside.” she says turning to him._

_“That’s graphic.” He says, before adding, “fiddled?!”_

_“Yes. You have fiddler hands. Therefore, fiddled I think works very well.” She says, ticking one side of her mouth up. “excuse me a moment.” She throws out before walking to the bathroom of the cabin house._

_He calls after her. “And is there a reason you’re only mentioning manual manipulation and not penetrative intercourse.”_

_A laugh echoes from the room. “Calm your ego and let me pee.”_

_When she reemerges he immediately says, “So?”_

_“So? are you asking me how my trip to the—”_

_“Don’t be ridiculous.” He says. “You know what I mean.”_

_“Telling me not to be ridiculous is like asking me not to breath.”_

_“Breathing’s boring, and as a smoker you’ll likely not breath very well. Which, why in the world would an opera singer smoke to begin with?”_

_“Because I can, and speaking of—” she says opening the window and grabbing a package of cigarettes. Sherlock gets up taking a lighter off the bedside table as he walks over in well fitted boxer briefs, tying the cabin’s complimentary robe over himself. He ignites the lighter, white plastic, bringing it to the cigarette at her lips before pulling out one for himself._

_“To answer your original question, it seems wrong to compliment you on the actual copulative act when I did most of the work.”_

_“You what?” he says choking a bit from inhaling to quickly in surprise._

_“It also seems wrong to tell you to thank me after if I didn’t actually do something worthy of Thanks. Be serious Will. I’m going to give you credit when it’s due to you, but not pass off my own. That’d be like me telling that woman whose husband’s execution your fixing that I deserve the credit for it just because I’ll be in the room for it.”_

_“Who said you were invited?” says Sherlock._

_“Says it’s not closed to the public. You see my point though.”_

_“So, you’re implying I was merely in the room?”_

_“Oh, don’t get hung up on an imperfect analogy.” She quips._

_“Don’t tell me what to do.” He responds._

_She laughs. “This is why I like you so much.” She says smiling warmly at him. “So are you asking for a debrief after I de-briefed you.”_

_He rolls his eyes. “Puns are the lowest form of humor.”_

_“and imitation is the highest form of flattery, but when I do this, ‘puns are the lowest form of humor,’” she says mimicking him comically, “we find that, at the very least, there are exceptions to the rule, or that the rule may be invalid altogether.” She says inhaling._

_He gives her a long look before he laughs once gently. “Touché.” He says._

_She exhales. “For the record, although honest feedback is appreciated, it’s not necessary unless alteration for improvement is requested. I’m confident enough to not be overly concerned if you don’t compliment my performance. But if you’d like feedback, it was the best sex I’ve ever had.”_

_“it’s the only sex you’ve ever had.” He says._

_“So, it’d be terrible if it wasn’t.” she says seriously before smiling slowly. The smile drops as she flicks ash out the window. “Although I object to that statement. Lesbian sex is sex."_

_"Is it though?" says Sherlock with a degree of quip._

_"I'm sorry, but are you looking for a lecture about... literally everything that's wrong with that sentiment, or are you compliment fishing?" she says. She pauses before saying, "I_ _am very pleased with what I’ve experienced so far. I wasn’t concerned you’d lack proficiency. It’s not likely. But I’m pleased that my belief that I needn’t be concerned was valid.” She says looking up after a moment, her expression serious. He holds her eye contact. "_ _Always nice to be proven right, and always better to be proven wrong when an experience goes better than expected.” She adds, smiling. He smiles back softly. She pauses before grinning wider. “Does that answer the question you were indirectly asking?” she says before putting a hand up. “are you… satisfied?” she says emphasizing the last word, raising an eyebrow at the pun._

_“oh god.” he says shaking his head as he begins to laugh. she pulls a camera out and snaps a picture of him._

_“Really?” he says._

_“What would happen if I said no? Would the picture disappear?” she says shaking the Polaroid._

_He takes the camera from her, and she looks at him mischievously. “shall I strike a pose?” she says, leaning back against the door frame as she looks up at him. He snaps a picture and takes the printed white card._

_“Do I get to position you into it?” he asks._

_“you just took one. And that sounds dirty.” She says._

_“It should. That’s how I mean it.” he says snapping again as her face looks a bit scandalized and intrigued. Her expression changes again, showing amusement and surprise at having the camera capturing her expression again._

_He takes a last drag of his cigarette before putting it out, exhaling it before saying. “Julie.”_

_She waits before asking, “yes?”_

_“Thank you.” he says before looking up at her._

_“Thank you back.” She says softly, before adding, smiling her characteristic, somewhat pursed lips and twinkling eyes that accompanies a joke. “It was my pleasure.”_

_He laughs, and then straightens as his face drops before turning to face her head on in a sudden realization. “you said I could thank you after just so you could say that.” he says._

_“Oh, well done detective Holmes.” She says._

* * *

 

**_Ten and A Half Years Later…_ **

_“Jack, are you sure we can’t transition from Kissing Ships to Fiddle Fiend?” asks a tall man, his hair and face dirty, though underneath it, lighter hair sits. There are several people around them. A group of several men, and one woman._

_“FF is a duet. Have you magically learned to play the fiddle Julian?” says a tall woman with red hair, cut to her shoulders and braided back. Glasses sit on her face as she opens a chest in front of her and carefully pulling a notebook from inside the box._

_A woman with pale blonde hair comes dashing in. “I got us a room!” she calls to the group in a mild English accent._

_“_ A _room?” asks the man called Julian._

_“Oh for all the fucking fuck's sake. I got a double room for you boys and one for the ladies." the blonde woman rolls her eyes at her brother._

_“And I suppose you two have your own room so you can bump uglies.” Calls another man from across the room._

_“we have our own room so she can get a break from your leering, dirty bastard.” says the woman called Jack._

_“Does it ever get weird being lesbian lovers with someone you call your sister?” says the man._

_“Smith, does it ever occur to_ you _that it_ isn’t _weird to keep some thoughts to yourself?” responds Jack standing up and throwing a notebook into the box before a sound goes off._

_“What was that?” says Julian._

_“Text.” She says. “can you grab it?” she turns to the blonde woman who reaches in and takes an older model phone, handing it off to the woman called Jack._

_Jack pauses as she reads._

_RECEIVED_ _: **Alive.**_

_She types._

_SENT: **Heard not seen.** She locks the phone but it immediately goes off again. She pauses and looks._

_RECEIVED_ _: **Where are you?**_

_SENT: **Why?**_

_RECEIVED: **Talk.**_

_RECEIVED **Meet.**_

_She pauses longer looking at the phone. The first message means one thing, but the second means something so much more._

_“Is everything alright Jackie?” says the blonde English woman._

_“Hmm? what?” Jackie responds, distracted_

_“who’s texting you?” Says the blonde woman._

_“Family.” says Jack._

_“what family? you don’t have a family.” says the woman._

_“well that’s ridiculous Anne.” Says Jack. “of course I have a family. I’m not a child of immaculate conception.”_

_"What am I, chopped liver?" says a man with an Irish accent. "is it Dad? Oh or the Rosamunds?"_

_"Different Family. After Dad." she replies as she types._

_SENT: **Germany. Touring. Meeting will take a while. I can talk but there will be eavesdropping.**_

_The phone rings instantly._

_“Well Hello.” she says. “hold on just a moment.” She says stepping away a bit. “it’s been a while. Is everything alright?”_

_She listens._

_“As it’s ever been.” She responds._

_She listens for a long time her brow furrows. “Okay. Well myself and my partner are collaborating with a group called Deadwood Mountain.” She pauses and then, “Yes, exactly. There working a loop with us before we go on tour with them as featured artists. Filling in the sound and the like. We’ve got an American tour in about eight weeks—”_

_She leans against a wall, taken a back. After a long moment. “No I’m here. I’m just surprised. We will definitely need to talk about this in person, because that is not—” she pauses again, “Well yes. that’s exactly what I think—” she gets cut off again. she blinks. “I’m… I wish I could but I’m not in a place where that’s even possible. No really. We’ve got a group of about seven people, eight with me and we have less than a dollar each. We have to play tonight if we want to eat.”_

_“ What?!” cries Smith. “oh I’ve had—”_

_“don’t even start-- What?” she says turning. She looks taken aback. “Okay. yes. yes of course. I’ll do what I can. I love you too.” she says before hanging up._

_“I didn’t know you had another family.” says Annie._

_“Never came up. On purpose. Sore spot, so let it be.” she says holding her eyes._

_“How much money do we have to our communal name, because that’s what I want to know.” says Smith._

_“we have the equivalent of six dollars. 'Starving artist’ isn’t just a cliché.” Says Jack._

* * *

 

_The next morning, in the early hours, Annie and Jack play the last bars of their musical number to mild applause from people walking to work across the square._

_SENT: **I will be considering what you’ve asked.**_

_SENT: ***what you’ve offered.**_

_RECEIVED: **You know where to find me. SH**_

* * *

* * *

 

 

## Chapter One: Now

**_One Year Later._ **

**_Autumn._ **

“Where have they ALL GONE!” bursts an angry noise from Sherlock as he flings himself out of his chair.

“I’m sure a case will come along soon.” Says John, paper open before him.

“I might as well turn _on_ my email notification so I can hear the _three_ emails I get. _A week.”_ he says.

“It’s a bit morally questionable to be rooting for crimes to appear.” Says John.

“It’s a bit morally questionable to leave your daughter with a babysitter just to sit here and do nothing.” replies Sherlock.

John looks angry as he stares hard at Sherlock. “You do realize I’m here _because_ it’s so slow.”

“So you enjoy watching me in this state then.” Says Sherlock, flinging things off the couch before pulling a pack of cigarettes from the side of a cushion.

“Really?!” says John. “Smoking again.”

“don’t start.” Says Sherlock.

“No. That’s actually an excellent place to start. No. I don’t like to see you in an unoccupied state, because you start to slip when you haven’t got something to work on.” says John. “first it’s the smoking. Then…” he gestures.

Sherlock pauses. “Oh not that again. That was ages ago.”

“Which time?” says John.

“So, you’re babysitting me.” says Sherlock. “Rosie’s being babysat so you can babysit me. Why not cut out the middle man and just hire one to watch me instead.” Says Sherlock.

“You asked for my help. Or have you forgotten?” says John.

He scoffs. “If you really wanted to help you would restart your little driveling blog.” Says Sherlock.

John looks surprised, his head bouncing back a bit as if blown back by the force of the undercurrent message.

“What?” says Sherlock.

“Is that you’re way of admitting that my blog was of use to you, then?” asks John.

Sherlock groans before lighting the cigarette with a metallic flip lighter he pulls from the crystal ashtray he took from the palace.

“Inside? Really?” says John.

“I’m opening a window.” He says, doing so as he speaks.

His phone rings and he glances down before exhaling and answering. “Hello Molly.” He says looking at John in an annoyance. “I’m. Fine. I’m putting you on speaker, so you can gang up on me together. More efficient.” He says putting the phone down and sucking in through the filter.

 _“Oh Sherlock don’t be ridiculous.”_ Says Molly through the speaker.

“Why am I always the one who’s being ridiculous?” he says exhaling smoke.

“Because you are.” says John. Sherlock opens his eyes wide before rolling them.

_“Listen, there’s this group of musicians out at the fountain. I’m pretty sure it’s that group you follow on twitter.”_

“which one?” says Sherlock, seeming mildly interested, his body tensed.

_“I don’t remember their name. Something about a mountain?”_

“ _Deadwood Mountain_?” he says pulling his computer to him.

“uh, yeah I think it was… Excuse me.”

They hear a voice from the other end of the phone.

_“Yes lovely?”_

_“are you deadwood mountain?”_

_“Holy shit! It’s happening._ ” they hear him shout. “ _Guys this girl just recognized us. Does this mean we’re famous now?”_

They hear molly laugh.

His phone buzzes.

He taps on the phone and looks at it for a moment as molly says. _“See. So if you aren’t busy you might as well come see them play. They said they’ll start in a couple minutes.”_

“Be there in a jiff.” He says and hangs up.

“You should really start saying goodbye before hanging up.” Says John. “It’s very rude.”

“So is making people wait.” says Sherlock standing up, and tossing his dressing gown over the chair.

“Never stopped you before.” Says John.

“Well come on. For the record, if you’re going to babysit you should be prepared to entertain your charge. Molly’s outdone you.” says Sherlock throwing his own suit jacket on as he makes his way down the stairs.

“Who is this group, anyway? Are they any good?” says John, following.

“Got a case?” asks Mrs Hudson coming to the stairs.

“Not quite.” Says John.

“Street performers.” Says Sherlock.

“What?” says Mrs Hudson.

“We’re going to see some group Sherlock follows on Twitter or something. Do you want to come?” Says John.

“I suppose. It is a nice Saturday to be out and about.” Says Mrs Hudson. “I’ll just get my coat.”

* * *

 

They arrive to a small gathering.

“Not very popular, this group.” Says Mrs Hudson.

“Sherlock!” calls Molly. People turn to see if it’s him, but what’s most notable is a man’s voice. “The detective? Holy crap. Well look at that. I’m loving England.”

“Loving England? We’ve been here for an hour.” Says a woman’s voice.

“We’ve been recognized and a famous person is at our show.” Says the man’s voice.

“He’s not really famous anymore. He’s lost his edge.” Says a voice in the crowd.

“That’s rude.” Says an American voice turning. Sherlock stands next to her in the crowd.

“He’s not wearing the hat.” Says a man with an Irish accent, called Cal, approaching with a hand out. “Hi. It’s good to meet you Mr. Holmes—”

“Will you stop being a fan girl for a minute. I’d like to eat today.” Says the man called Julian.

“It’s alright. As our friend said, I’ve lost my edge. It’s been a while. Plus, I can hardly criticize someone for a fan’s excitement. I am a fan myself.” He says shaking the man's hand.

“Of us?” says Julian.

“Well, of your collaborators.” Corrects Sherlock.

“Does he mean us?” says Annie, with her british lilt.

He nods. “I’ve been a fan of your partner for many years. I’d even say I was her biggest fan.”

“My biggest fan?” says the American. “I can’t really say the same because I imagine your biggest fans are a bit on the criminal side.”

“and you’re not?” Calls a different voice."

She scoffs. “ _One time_ I was arrested. They’ll never let me live it down. It was a political protest.”

“No. One time you were charged.” Says Julian. “you’ve been arrested several times. Watch your pockets Mister Holmes.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I do have to say I’m not nearly as big of a fan of your most recent stage name. and these gentleman are an interesting choice.” says Sherlock.

“Other stage names? What’s he talking about Jackie?” says a man behind them.

“Jack’s a very multipurpose name. fits the lifestyle better.” Says the American.

“Is the full, by chance, Jacquotte Dehlahaye?” Says Sherlock. "I assume so. And I assume the red is part of the tribute."

“I think you’re the first person to get the reference.” She says smiling. "Unless I've explained it, of course."

“What reference?” Says Julian.

“May I?” asks Sherlock.

“Mister Holmes-“ 

“Sherlock.” corrects sherlock.

“Sherlock.” she corrects obligingly. “As a lover of solving mysteries, would you rob others of the chance to solve them on their own?” after a moment though she laughs. “what am I saying. You’re a detective. It’s literally your calling to reveal an unsolved mystery. Julia.” She says gesturing to herself before putting a hand out.

“I know.” He says taking it and smiling with narrowed eyes.

“mm. If you say so.” She says shrugging.

“I do, Miss Dawson.” Says Sherlock.

She releases his hand. “ew. Miss?”

“Not Miss?” says Sherlock, raising an eyebrow.

“God no. If you insist on an honorific, Mizz will suffice, Holmes. The insistence that a woman’s honorific change—”

“Aaand here she goes on a feminist rant!” says Julian. “Yes you are the bestest of all the feminists in the world. La Feminista. Can we play now? No, we are. LADIES AND GENTLEMAN!” he calls opening cases. “If you like what you hear, or pity this collection of vaguely starving artists, we hope you’ll throw us some cash. All we’ve got on hand are rubels and it’s three o’clock on a Saturday.”

“not that we have much of that either.” says the man called Smith, as the Jack/Julia walks toward the rest of the group. She opens a wallet and pulls a twenty-pound note from it. “Since you are my biggest fan, Sherlock.” she says turning to him. “I can assume this would have happened regardless, so I’ll save you the trouble of the walk, and thank you now.” she says dropping it into the case. Sherlock taps his pocket in surprise. She tosses him the wallet.

“Told you.” calls the Julian. Laughter emanates from around the group. She speaks with a woman on the other side of the group.

“Are you not actually a fan of the group?” asks Molly.

He shrugs. “Occasionally adequate.”

“I did think it was odd.” says Molly.

“Well, you seemed to like them.” Says Sherlock.

Suddenly the woman’s voice is projecting out with impressive force. “It’s illegal to perform in the streets without a license.” She calls.

The group falls silent. She shrugs before pulling out a sword, to gasps.

“It’s also illegal to carry a blade longer than three inches.” She says spinning the sword. “without good cause. I doubt a good enough cause to excuse this wouldn't include committing a different illegal act.”

“How can a sword be part of a performance? A musical performance?” Calls another man from the group.

“Oh I hate staged call and answer.” She calls. “but I’ll oblige. Like this.” She says taking a fiddle from out of a container and running the side of the blade across the string, creating a long clear note. She lifts her eyebrows as people make startled noises before laughing in an intrigued way.

“All the girls love a sailor. Isn’t that right Annie?” She says to her friend.

“not a drunken one.” Annie calls back flipping her hair.

“mm.” She says. She jumps up onto the top of the fountain. “Not a drunken one. What do you do with a drunken sailor?”

Sherlock groans.

“Heavy handed, I know.” Says Cal's irish tenor, “but what better warm up. Crowd, if you feel compelled to join in, just follow along. Ready, steady.” He says and she begins to play. Once she’s played a round they begin to sing, and people join in. Soon people are singing loudly, laughing.

Once the song is over they immediately jump into their set, playing a remarkably funky sound, with a distinct American, Southern Rock flair. They only get through a couple songs before police show up.

“Oh damn. Can we just play one more officer?” says the tallest man who called out before.

“You’re going to have to move along. Busking without a license is illegal.” Says the officer.

“What if we have a license?” calls Julia/Jack.

“Do you?”

“I have one for Germany.” She calls.

“Well you need one for England.” calls the officer impatiently.

“Absurd.” She says. “Driver’s licenses are good across state lines.”

“Well street performing isn’t good even across city lines, miss.”

“It’s not _miss_.” She calls. “ _miss_. I was just saying. Wasn’t I _Just_ saying?” She says.

“Fight ‘em!” calls Smith.

“is that a sword.”

“No.” she says matter-of-factly.

“it is so.” Says the officer.

“No it isn’t.” she says. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I have a sword?”

“you have a sword in your hand. I can see it.” Says the officer.

“Well what your mind sees and what I have are two very different things. it’s not _my_ fault _you're_  confused. Although that’s a bit concerning. Hallucinating police officers.” She says rolling her eyes. Her body language and even her voice drops.

“Miss—”

“-ter.” She says.

“what?”

“Mister.” She says. “not Miss. This really is concerning. He thinks I’m a woman with a sword. It’s mister. Mister Jack Dahley.”

Sherlock shakes his head.

“J.D. Do not you dare get arrested or I will not bail you out.” calls a woman from the other side in the crowd.

“tell the officer not to arrest me.” She calls back.

“don’t arrest me.” calls the woman and Jack laughs.

“Officer, please.” says annie. “We promise we’ll clear out if you just let us play one more song. Isn’t that right Jack?”

“depends on the song.” Says Jack.

“One of yours, of course. You’ve got a fan here. And it’s been an age since we played something of yours. please sir. One song. It doesn’t even have words. We’ll shut the cases and everything.”

“So I’m playing for free? Unacceptable.” Says Jack.

“Officer.” Says Sherlock, getting his attention.

“Oh. Mister Holmes.”

“You’re interfering with an investigation of mine.” He says.

“Where’s the hat?” calls Jack, interrupting.

“What?” says Sherlock. She gestures. He sighs, and pulls it from his pocket.

“Ah hah. Now I’m sure you are who you claim. Wear the hat?” She says.

“You wear it.” he says throwing it, barely glancing at her. “one song and I’ll personally ensure they pack up after that.”

“You’re not the boss of me.” she says putting the hat on.

“Do you want to play or not?” says Sherlock, turning.

“I did play.” She says widening her eyes at him.

“If you call that playing.” he says.

“I do.” She says lifting her hand up and pulling the tie on the top of her head so the flaps fall down. “and now I can’t hear you.” she says tying them under her chin.

People laugh.

“One song?” says Sherlock.

The officer holds eye contact. “One. and then pack it up.”

“Unacceptable. He’s not in any way associated with us, let alone in charge of us, and I won’t settle for less than two.” She says.

“are you serious?” Says the officer.

“Do I not look serious? Is it the hat?” she says. John snorts a laugh.

“Two it is. and the cases will stay open because I’d like to eat, and more than that I’d like a shower. You might want to wash this.” She says pointing to it. “at least we aren’t lousy anymore.”

“lou—are you serious?”

“do I not look serious? It really must be the hat. Wait.” She says turning. “Did we de-lice the wigs?”

Julian thinks. “No.” he says.

  
“Awesome. So we also need to buy lice shampoo. Again.” says Julia/Jack. She jumps up on the fountain. “Right. Crowd.” She says pointing. “Bonjour. I’d appreciate your appreciation be given in monetary form. We need showers more than applause. And if Scotland Yard… Is it Scotland Yard? Why is it _Scotland_ yard if we’re in England?” she says thinking. She poses in thought but runs a thrill across the violin. “Hmm. Anyway.” She says. “Maybe three? Let’s call it three.”

“I said one.” Says the officer.

“Oh no. I’m sorry I distinctly remembering you saying three. One entirely new piece, one cover, and a finale. There are three acts in a play, and the game’s a foot. Quick what’s that from?” she says, pointing to the crowd.

“Henry the Eighth.” Calls Sherlock.

“I know fan is short for fanatic, but it could be short for fantastic as well.” She says. 

She runs the sword across the strings and an aching note lifts up, which soars upwards before beginning a haunting tune. She pulls away the sword and the rest of the group begins to play.

   The sound is utterly different now. The music is adventuresome as the group plays quickly, her own music intricate and fluid. She flips in the air while playing and spins as the music progresses. She unties the hat as she stands on the ledge of the fountain, and she shakes her coat out. A sound like coins emerges and a bit of glitter shakes out, surprising the audience. Several cameras are out, including a few from the men who came with her. She flips again and the hat and wig come off. She pretends to look back at it in surprise. Her hair underneath is dark, braided down the back of her head. She shakes her coat again and drops it, before flipping her shirt up. Her chest is bound and Annie takes the edge.

The audience makes a noise as she spins and annie throws the end of the binding to the tall man, who pulls her in and then back out.

“Is she going to take all her clothes off?” says the police officer. Sherlock looks surprised as he watches. His hands tense in his pockets. She spins into annie’s open arms who holds a corset top out in front of her, wrapping it around and fastening the tags quickly on the front before spinning her. Annie yanks the strings and Julie makes a face of almost surprise as it cinches around her small waist. Her breasts lift up a bit from it as annie ties a sash around her waist. When her playing pauses, she slides a coat back on, with a naval flair as she flips it on before jumping directly into the fountain.

“Oi! You can’t be in—” she kicks and water sprays out and the audience takes a step back.

 She flips again in the fountain before playing the very last portion of the song. She pauses long enough to place a tricorn hat on her head before holding up her hand and holding out two fingers.

Julian stands up and removes his own coat, pulling a sword from his waist. Annie is dressed in similar fashion as they play the second song.

The greatest feature of the song is the sword-fighting. Annie takes over simple portions as Julie and Julian move through the fountain, or even the crowd. The fighting isn’t staged. The only part that’s clear is that they pay attention to the music as they fight across the space.

“Look lively!” she calls in a silly accent, before disarming him and he makes an annoyed noise and flips her off. She hops down and finishes the song.

She holds up the three fingers but then puts a hand out. She plucks the strings briefly and the boys laugh as she hands the sword to annie, who trades it for a traditional bow. The boys take up instruments. She plucks again and they begin to play. A lively, but also somewhat darker, more sensual version of The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy comes forth. She moves through and the music sings out across the courtyard. Sherlock turns to see that the crowd has increased several times in size. She sits at one point on the fountain ledge and annie sits on her lap. She takes the violin and presses it against annie’s body, playing it as if it where a much larger string instrument, such as a cello. Annie leans against her as she plays and the act is extremely sexual.

“HEY! Now that can’t—”

Annie makes a noise and she smiles and shakes her head. Sherlock swallows, his hands tightening more in his pocket. Molly looks relieved. “Oh. She’s gay.” She says.

“No.” says sherlock without thinking.

“Hm?” says molly.

The dancing moves on and she moves with grace, the two dancing traditional ballet steps before the tall man joins her, lifting her up as she plays.

The song ends in a flourish. Applause rains throughout the group.

She sheaths the sword and puts it in with the trunk that’s open before them.

“aren’t you cold, Mizz Dawson?” says sherlock.

“my fellows call me jack, but I prefer Julie.” She corrects. “and the movement keeps me warm. Now that I’m not moving though—” she says sliding on a sweater and a beaten leather coat. She takes the hat and hands him it. “no please. It suits you better.” He says.

“Not a chance. You keep your silly hat. But I’ll tell you what, we can take a picture, yeah?” she says. he laughs, looking at her curiously. “do you mind?” she asks to molly.

“what? Oh, no, not at all.” says molly.

She hands her a phone, open to the camera. Sherlock puts a hand to her back and she puts the hat back on, puts an arm under his and then points at his face as they take it, causing him to smile a bit. Even molly smiles a bit, a hint of jealousy still playing across her face.

“can I have one with Dr Watson as well?”

“me?” says john.

“of course. My father was an avid reader of your blog, until you stopped posting.”

“your father and not yourself?” he says.

“I read the one’s my father insisted I read, when I had the chance. I must insist you join the shot though. He’ll be immensely pleased I met you as well, It’s not really complete to meet Sherlock Holmes without meeting Dr Watson.”

John is clearly flattered. “well. Alright then.” he says, joining it.

“say cheese.” Says molly and they oblige. She looks at the picture and smiles. “thank you doctor. And… “

“Also doctor.” Says sherlock. “doctor molly hooper.”

“please. just molly is fine.” says molly.

She nods. “Julie. Good to meet you.” she says. “Julie.” She says introducing herself to mrs hudson as well. “oh. lovely to meet you. Mrs Hudson. I really liked your bit. That was the sugar plum fairy right?”

She nods, smiling. “yes. a bit of a tribute to our various times on stages.”

“oh stage? Like ballet?”

“opera.” Says sherlock.

“not that they’re mutually exclusive. Listen, I’ve got to work the crowd, but hopefully I’ll get to see you all again soon. I know the boys will be doing some of their own work tonight. I won’t be there for it. I have some arrangements to make that interfere. But I do recommend if you’re interested that you all go by, and bring friends. It’s at Fawkes Place on—”

“west 3rd and Richmond Road.” Says sherlock.

She grins. “yes. If you tell the bartender you’re here to see them play, it’d be a tremendous help. Might enable them to play there again. and the boys will treat you to a round for it.”

“oh that sounds nice.” Says Mrs Hudson. “but a bit young for me.”

“nonsense, mrs hudson. Fawkes is a laidback place, not some hole in the wall den of barely legal brutes. That’s why it helps to have people come by. The former is definitely more there scene, compared to the later.”

“well. Perhaps I’ll pop by. What do you think?”

“I don’t know if the sitter will be able to stay that late, but don’t let that stop you.” says dr. Watson.

“I’ll go with you mrs hudson. We could see if greg wants to come see.”

“that sounds lovely.” She says.

“wonderful.” Says julie. “and hopefully I’ll see you all again myself very soon. It was good to meet you all. Sherlock.” she says handing him the hat. “it was good to meeting with you. You really should be better a this part though, being a detective.” She says.

“what part—” he sighs as she hands him his wallet again.

“you’re welcome to check that I didn’t take anything.”

“Like I believe that.” he says opening the wallet. Inside is a folded note, tucked between the cash in his wallet. He looks at her.

“see. told you.” she says. “until next time. afternoon.” She says nodding and leaving to speak with the rest of the audience.

“well. She’s very nice.” Says mrs hudson.

“how did you know about her?”

“She was famous, in a way. She stared as Viola in an operatic version of twelfth night. Halfway through the second act, between scene () and (), she disappeared.”

“oh my goodness. I remember that being in the papers.” Says mrs hudson. “did you work her disappearance?”

“no. although I do know what happened.” he says.

They wait, and finally john says, ‘well?”

“two separate occurances were linked to the disappearance of the opera singer known as Joli Salaud, or ‘pretty bastard.’ One was that the man who owned the theater was committing some fairly impressive bits of tax fraud. Underpaid staff, laundered money, participated in not-quite organized crime but not far from. He kept massive amounts of cash hidden in his office. That night, when the building manager went to refund the money, he found that the boxoffice had been emptied. The owner was called to pull cash from the office, where he discovered he’d been cleaned out. Two weeks later the previously underpaid staff received back-wages and generous severances packages. They appeared to come from Britain, but they were actually sent first from America.”

“so, she robbed the theater in, what, a robin hood type situation.”

“what was the second thing that happened?” says molly.

“She had something else she’d rather be doing in America, and decided to leave because it struck her fancy to.”

“so she left to create a distraction so she could rob the place?” says john.

Sherlock smiles, one side lifting higher then the other before saying, “the redistribution of wealth was an afterthought.”

 

 


	2. The Vagrant: My Wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock declines to meet his friends at the show mentioned, opting instead to go to a meeting. 
> 
> Outside the meeting he greets a vagrant, but one he already knows. One he is very happy to see, and even happier to bring home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a ROUGH draft. I apologize for the grammar and spelling errors.
> 
> This also includes a lot of logistic talking. I find it hard to leave some questions unanswered, and try to include what might happen during such discussions.
> 
> This chapter contains sex.

## Chapter Two:

“Sherlock!” calls mrs hudson.

“what?” he calls back.

“Here let le go up.” says John, marching up the stairs two at a time. “Are you coming with us?” he says walking through the door.

“I thought you couldn’t get a sitter.” He says with some sass as he reads a book.

“Not a problem after all. So, are you coming?”

“no.” says sherlock.

“no?” says John.

“no.” he repeats turning the page.

“are you serious?” says John. Sherlock looks up. “what?” he says.

“I got a sitter so we could go to this.”

“I’m not stopping you. Have fun.” He says.

“Sherlock.” says John.

“yes?” says Sherlock.

He looks at him seriously.

Sherlock lifts his eyebrows, before sighing. “afraid to leave me alone?” he says.

“Have Baker Street entirely to yourself? I don’t think so.” he says.

“If you must know, I was going to go to a meeting.” He says.

John looks at him. “what?” says John.

“a meeting. You know. Narcotics Anonymous. Hi my name is Sherlock and I’m an addict.” he says it widening his eyes. “Hi sherlock.”

“Really?” says John, approaching. “you’re going to a meeting.”

“yes.”

“I thought meetings were ‘insufferable coddling spiritualistic garbage.’” He says stepping closer.

“mm. even so.” he says.

John sits down. “if you’re struggling, you know you can talk to me.” he says.

Sherlock looks at him seriously. “I know John. But I don’t want you to be my sponsor. I doubt I’ll find one tonight, but there’s no harm in looking.”

John looks at him surprised.

“They pass out tokens at meetings, as I’m sure you know. I think it’s not a bad idea to have such a thing. and you know I don’t mind a bit of applause.”

John laughs a bit. “well. Okay.” he says.

“you don’t need to be so worried. It’s not your job to make sure I stay clean.”

“yes it is.” says john.

“no john. it’s not. You’re my friend. Not my keeper. It’s not on anyone else if I slip, and no one else can do the work of keeping clean besides me.”

John looks at him, his eyes serious, his expression surprised.

“I’ll reach out if I need to, but it’s a closed meeting. Have fun.”

“right.” Says john before getting up, “okay. you too?”

Sherlock smiles a bit, and nods.

“just not too much fun.” Says sherlock

“Not that kind of fun.” Says john and he laughs. “no. not that kind.”

John moves to leave, but stops in the doorway.  “I know it hasn’t been easy. But eight months is an accomplishment. If it counts for anything, I think you should be very proud. I am.”

Sherlock nods. “thank you, John.”

“so, no good?” says mrs hudson.

“he’s going to a meeting.” Says John. “an NA meeting.”

“really?” says mrs hudson.

“apparently.” Says john.

“well. That’s good, isn’t it.”

“yes, I think it is.”

…

Sherlock sits among many people in the pews of a church where the meeting is being held. One or two people in the meeting do a double-take. He sits and listens, doing his best to stay open.

“I see some new faces.” Says the leader. “I’d like to open the floor to these people in case they have something to say.”

Sherlock walks to the speaking podium, and clears his throat. “hi. I’m… My name is Sherlock and I’m an addict.” he says.

“hi sherlock.” say people around the room.

“I haven’t been to something like this in a long time. A private rehabilitation facility. I had hoped to avoid it, but someone I’m close to said there’s no harm in using the resources available to me. I’m eight months clean. and three days.”

There’s applause that breaks out across the room startling him a bit. He nods. “mm. well I started trying to get clean over sixteen months ago. Work has always been thing to turn to… to stay clean, but work is very slow.” A few nod. “The past two months have been extremely difficult. I thought it would get easier if I just made it over the six month hump, but that wasn’t the case. And now…”

“yes?” says the meeting leader.

“I have friends of course, who worry about me. a god daughter whose often around… family.” he says. “Family who believes in me. Family I don’t want to let down. Family I’m concerned I might lose if I don’t get clean, and stay clean.

A friend of mine died. She died saving my life, which seems absolutely ridiculous and unbelievable. She was like family. The husband of my best friend. I went on a bender after that. I had excuses for why I did this, but they were still excuses. I could have found other ways to cope, and work. I just chose not to because I didn’t want to feel the…loss. And because I couldn’t help.

I then went through a very serious and difficult time with my family. It painted the importance of those around me who I care about. Who I love.

 I asked friends and the like to help, but they’re constant monitoring and concern, if anything, makes it harder. So I’m bored, constantly reminded of my sobriety, which means I’m constantly reminded what it was like before. It’s awful.” He says. he seems surprised by what he’s saying. “I actually only came to see about getting sobriety tokens. Something tangible attached to what I’ve already done, and something tangible to be reaching for.” He clears his throat. “anyway that’s it.”

“thank you for sharing sherlock.” says the meeting leader. “I know it wasn’t the topic of our discussion tonight, but I think it is an excellent topic to discuss. I know I experienced something like that during my first year getting clean. I remember throwing my mother’s china at my brother’s head at one point. The help and support given early on can become burdensome later. It’s a difficult thing to navigate and everyone is different when it comes to the path they take. I’m sure though that some of us will have stories for how we navigated it. I would however like to ask, is there anyone else who is going through this issue?”

Several hands go up. “you are not alone sherlock. when we conclude the meeting, we can give you some of those tokens.”

“can I go next?” says a woman in a smart suit.

“Hi I’m alison, and I’m an addict.”

“hi alison.” Call some.

“I’m clean… thirty six hours, but before I slipped I was clean almost five years years. There’s two sides of that coin. I know I had that talk with friends and family. Three times actually. After the first year, and definitely after the second, it’s not something anyone brings up. They thought of my time as an addict as over, but it isn’t. I haven’t told them I slipped because I didn’t think I could face the disappointment. I slipped about a month ago, and the idea of telling them pushed me… no. not pushes me. but it’s a factor for why I slip again and again. It is what I was trying to hide from. The shame of slipping makes it so hard to keep from slipping again. I told them I slipped today, and my mother was crushed, but my sponsor said she think the only way I’ll get control of the situation is to take control of it by facing what I’m scared of. But I did want to say, I do wish they’d been watching for it. That the expectation that I could slip was there. It’s been to easy to slip and ‘get away’ with it. No one knew what was going through my mind and i felt so alone. I did ever since I hit about eighteen months. I stopped coming to meetings, telling myself that it was just a phase I went through, as my family and friends seemed to think. I think I might still be clean if I’d kept coming though because at least the people hear know that the struggle is there. I guess though, the best thing I can say is that it’s absolutely true that it’s a negotiation. I wish I had reached out when I felt the ground start too feel not just slippery, but tilting.

“So I guess what I have to say is that it’s absolutely a good idea to talk plainly about what your going through and how the attention affects us, but it’s important to remember that you can still talk to them about it. And that you can’t let the situation being imperfect keep you from staying clean, because it’s never perfect. There will always be triggers, new ones and old, and if you do ask people to step back, you can’t let that enable yout o be complacent.”

 She addresses the comment directly to sherlock. he nods.

“very well put. Thank you for sharing Alison.”

“thanks alison.” Says the group.

…

As sherlock walks out, the woman called Alison stops him.

“yes?” he says.

“are you looking for a sponsor?” she asks.

“I think someone whose still counting their sobriety in hours is probably not a good choice.”

“are you saying you don’t find yourself calculating the hours?” says alison. “because I find that hard to believe.”

“mm, even so.”

“even so nothing, because I wasn’t asking so I could offer myself. This is _my_ sponsor’s number.”

“don’t they say you should have a sponsor who’s a different gender then yourself?” he says.

“I thought you were gay.”

“well I’m not.”

“Well you might still consider calling her. Ruth is sixty-five, clean for over twenty years. Her husband and herself sponsor people together, and are particularly discreet.” She hands him a piece of paper, on it says Aunt Ruth at the top.

“hmm.” he says.

“Uncle Harold stays up very late. Insomniac.” She smiles. “and if you’d like work that is outside of your typical expertise—”  
“I wouldn’t.” he says.

“if you change your mind, and care to take a crack at unsolved problems in a different field, My card.” She says giving him that as well. “I agree I’d be a terrible sponsor. But you’re welcome to call. Helps me to know someone might call me at strange hours so I could get busted if I’ve snuck off.”

He nods and takes the card, which reads “Alison Franklin, Arts Dealer.”

He looks at her curiously.

“and what, ‘unsolved problems’ might a café owner have for me.”

“my husband works in offshore oil.” She says. he hears the lie, and she looks at him before saying, “supposedly.”

He tilts his head.

“the offshore isn’t supposed though, is it mrs franklin.”

“that’s correct.” she says. “See you around, mister holmes, and congratulations.”

He nods, and turns to see a very thin person in loose jeans, sweatshirt with a coat over it, hair tucked into a hat and glasses, a bag beside him.

“have you got a spare one of those.” Says sherlock indicating the cigarette in the person’s hand.

The person hands him a cigarette, turning to him.

Julie smiles at him as she accepts the lighter. “congratulations.” She says in a low, passingly masculine voice. “sixteen months.”

“eight.” he corrects.

She winces a bit. “sixteen months of work is not to be disregarded. I mean, everyone’s different of course when it comes to when they start counting, and what requires a clean slate to start counting over again. But sixteen months of reforming efforts also counts for something, I think.”

He tilts his head at her. “very tender, but it’s not exactly an accurate measurement of sobriety.”

“I didn’t say congratulations on sixteen months clean. I said congratulations, sixteen months, as in sixteen months of work and effort. Although also congratulations for eight months of sobriety. That is fantastic. People always count sobriety in threes, as if even numbers matters less. I like your scarf.”

He laughs a bit. “it was a gift.”

“it suits you.”

“I only ever wear things that suit me.”

Julie laughs.

“did you just get in?”

She nods.

“do you need someplace to crash?”

“really?” she says.

“do you?”

“you wouldn’t mind?”

He shakes his head. “honestly, I was considering having a flatmate.”

“oh. well…”

“if you aren’t too irritating, there’s room for another person.”

She laughs a startled sound. “well alright then.” she says. “are you on your way home?”

He nods.

“then I’ll follow you.” she says tossing the cigarette and hoping up, slinging the backpack on and the duffel over her shoulder. “thanks man.”

He nods. “not a problem.”

He leads them into baker street, and once their in he says, “they’re all out seeing your boys play.”

“fantastic.” She says in her normal voice, as they make their way upstairs. “was that your brother in the helicopter?”

“my brother was _behind_ it yes. I’m sure he’s calling john now to inform him I’ve taken in a vagrant addict I met at the meeting.” He says walking through the door. “if you keep the costume in the bathroom and lock the hall door, you can emerge from there if necessary. John may very well come to check on me. or my brother himself.”

“you really think John wouldn’t recognize me in costume?”

“quite possibly.” He says. “If it’s him, take a bath instead.”

She nods dropping the bag gently and tossing the backpack. She pauses in the room, and smiles. “it’s better than I imagined it.”

“you imagined it?”

“I imagine what you might be up to quite often.”

“and you think it’s _better._ ” He says.

“it’s more homey than I expected.”

“I feel like that’s not really a compliment.” He says approaching. She puts a hand to him. “I’m not kidding about my congratulations.”

“I hadn’t—”

“sixteen months of work, and eight months of uninterrupted success.” She says.

He looks at her.

“like that don’t you?”

“it’s quite a way of putting it.” he says. “are you here t ocelebrate my two thirds progress.”

“two thirds progress to potenetially living with you, you mean.”

“obviously. it’s… nice to get a night with you here.”

“oh more than one.” she says.

“oh?”

“you are mistaken in thinking I’m here to celebrate fractional success.” She says.

“oh?” he says.

She nods. “I’m here to discuss splitting the difference.”

His body goes still. She looks up at him, raising her eyebrows.

“what?” he says.

“you don’t understand?”

“I don’t think I do. What difference are you proposing be…” he trails off.

She smiles. “sixteen months of work, with eight of uninterrupted success.”

His heart beats widely.

“if you’d like to wait until one year, I understand of course. I imagine you’d have arrangements to make, such as clearing out hidden security-blanket style stash or stashes, and might wish to break he news in a less dramatic fashion.”

“you said I had to be clean for a year.”

“shall we sit?” she asks. “I’ll shut the door.”

He walks to his chair as she shuts the door, locking the kitchen one. “oh, I see why the thought on bathroom coordination is necessary. No lock.” She says.

He nods sitting, as she shakes her coat.

“how long might we have before someone is here to—”

His phone rings.

“mm.” she says.

He answers. “hello mycroft.”

_What ARE you doing?_

“currently I’m sitting in my chair talking with you.”

_And the vagrant you brought home with you._

“I was talking with them before you rudely interrupted my call.”

_Talking._

“mm. discussing flat-sharing.”

_I’m sorry?_

“no need to apologize.”

_That’s not what I meant._

“no it must be, because I’m pretty sure I don’t need to answer to you on whether or not I decide to have someone live with me or not.”

_Have you spoked to mrs hudson on the subject._

“I will if I find this Vagrant, or anyone else would work well.”

He hears her laugh softly from the kitchen as she putters about putting tea on.

_An addict vagrant stranger you met at a narcotics anonymous meeting._

“emphasis on anonymous.” He says. “I’m sure there are better people you can spy on.”

_Not when you’re alone and everyone—_

“actually there is something I’d like to speak with you about when it concerns that.”

_Oh?_

“everyone’s been very kind to be worried about me, but it’s become wearisome. And stressful.”

_I imagine not being enabled to fall back into old habits—_

“you imagine wrong. It’s at the point where constantly being reminded of the old habits is a greater issue, since I find when it’s not on my mind everyone insists it be brought to center stage. I’d appreciate, mycroft, if you can stop monitoring me. I makes it very hard to be proud of what I’ve doing at present when I’m constantly brought to feel shame for the slips I’ve had in the past. And it makes it particularly difficult that you make it so clear you have very little, if no faith that I can succeed.”

There’s silence on the other end for a long moment, but in the kitchen it’s not quite as she opens the cupboard, not even pausing as she looks for sugar, gets out milk, searches for biscuits. The kettle steams, almost boiling. She holds up two tea boxes asking preference.

_I’m sorry sherlock._

She shakes her head gesturing the second box and communicating that it’s the obvious choice, pointing at her watch to indicate it’s too late for caffeinated tea.

Sherlock seems a bit disarmed by the interaction.

_Sherlock, I didn’t realize. It’s not…_

“it’s not what?” he asks.

_It’s not that I don’t believe you can’t succeed. I’m just_

“trying to help?” he asks.

_Trying to look after you._

“I’m an adult mycroft. I can look after myself.”

_But that’s just it. you don’t—”_

“didn’t. not don’t. but that doesn’t mean I can’t.” he says this seriously, looking at her in the kitchen as the kettle boils, and catches her nodding as if she approves of what he says. his heart skips and his breath catches a bit, to which she turns.

“mycroft.” he says. “I don’t know if this has occurred to you, but if you didn’t insist on trying to leave no room for me to have privacy, I might be more… open with you. Following me to an NA meeting doesn’t feel particularly supportive. It is the very definition of controlling, something I instinctively push against, as you are well aware, and I imagine those surveilling me are getting bored with endless days of nothing happening anyway. I’m sure there are much more dangerous, interesting and pressing people they could be watching instead.”

_Yes yes. well…_

“well?”

_You’re asking me to do what then?_

“to give me the chance to come to you, instead of trying to get space from you. And if you don’t believe I can do this, at least make an effort not to make it so apparent. Just because you think I can’t doesn’t mean you should work to ensure it’s as difficult as possible to prove you wrong.”

_I do believe in you sherlock._

He laughs harshly.

_If I didn’t I wouldn’t have been so disappointed to find you’d slipped._

“right.” He says. “I’m walking away—”  
_wait no I didn’t—_

“in NA they say when you feel agitated we pause.”

_I’m sorry. Sherlock. truly. I didn’t mean to make it more difficult. I do believe you can. I just…_

“don’t force your help on me. let me ask for it.”

_Yes. of course. my apologies._

“the best apology is changed behavior.”

A laugh eminates from the other side. _I understand._

“do you?” he says.

_I’ll downgrade your survellience status once this call is over._

“and you’ll tell whoever you’ve called to investigate that it isn’t necessary?” he says.

_Yes._

 “Thank you. now, I’d like to return to the conversation you interrupted. Good night mycroft.”

_Good night._

She hands him the tea once he hangs up the phone, and takes off the coat she wears, pushing the hoodie up.

“good. it’s a bit warm for so many layers.” She says setting the tea down and pulling her coat and hat off, pushing the bag against the door. “just in case.” She says returning to the chair.

He nods.

“the last thing you said was ‘you said I had to be clean a year.’ To which I replied suggesting we sit so we could talk further in more comfort. Would you like to return to that conversation, or perhaps take a moment to speak about something else first?”

“why would I want to do that?” he says.

She smiles. “because I am so happy to see you in your natural habitat, and why on earth do you have a human foot in your cupboard? I assume it’s not because you plan to eat it.”

He laughs. “no. it’s an experiment. Wait, you didn’t move it did you?”

“didn’t even touch it. I replaced what was in front in what I believe was it’s original position, but of course, I can’t be a hundred percent sure. my apologies for possibly comparmising your experiment.”

He shakes his head. “not a serious enough compromise.” His expression is almost surprised, as if he remembers others might not apologize for it, but it doesn’t seem out of place for the woman in front of him.

She continues to smile, the smile fluctuating.

“what?”

“nothing. i said already. It’s an absolute kick being here. When people come to tell you cases, that’s where you sit, correct?”

“most of the time.” he says.

“and dr Watson sits here then?”

“when he’s here yes.” he responds.

“do they stand or… oh you take a table from that table, yes?”

“precisely.”

“an interesting psychology. You don’t actually face one another head on, but there isn’t the security of a desk between you. I assume it’s to put the speakers in a vulnerable and therefore more easy to read position.”

He leans to the side a bit, crossing his arms. “yes.” he says.

She shakes her head, smiling warmly. “if it wouldn’t embarrass any of the… well crew I guess works, I’d ask to see you read them. Perhaps we can go for a walk and you can do some stranger or two in a crowd.”

“do some stranger?” he says.

“do your deducery.”

“de-what?”

“Deducery” she says. “a combination of deduction and sorcery.”

“there is no _sorcery.”_

“Clark’s third law” she says.

“any sufficiently advance technology is indistinguishable from magic.” To those that don’t understand it, and even sometimes to those that do, it can be a mystical experience, your deductions.”

“flatterer.” He says.

She doesn’t respond, but continues to smile.

“it’s hurting my face looking at you smiling like that.”

“a remarkably empathetic reaction. Would you like for us to return to the split the difference conversation?”

He nods.

“I know you just expressed a wish to not have so much attention focused on your current sobriety efforts.”

He waves it away.

“well let me start with my own, more selfish reasons anyway. Sherlock.” she says. “I have several things to discuss with you over the next few days, and I’m mostly just discussing the possibility to figure out the timing of those discussions.”

He tilts his head. “oh? and what are the variables.”

“if you are unwilling to reveal our relationship to those around us bluntly and soon, the pursuit of some of what I have to say is altered. It makes it quite difficult to introduce you to family and those who are like family with honesty if a blunt reveal isn’t possible. It would make it easier for me though if a blunt reveal is the preference, as I’d like you to meet my dad, and my sibling.”

“sibling?”

“mm.” she says. “he’s also my partner.”

“I thought the girl was your partner.”

“no.” she says. “but that does lead me to other parts. I think if we are publicly involved with each other we should make a point of discussing all those details with relationships. Friends. Family. etc. In fact, basically if we are to be involved publicly, it may be best to not just know each other, but to also know _about_ each other. The higher the public level, the more you should know, and the more I should as well.”

He nods, his bottom lip sticking out a bit as he listens.

“I also, and no I’m not going into it tonight because I do want to make the most of our evening together by spending a significant amount of energy time, and attention in the bedroom. The keyword is attention. I don’t want you to be overly distracted.”

“and what is it you’re afraid would distract me.”

“I have a case for you.” she says.

“interesting foreplay.” He says.

“it’s not foreplay.” She says. “and it’s very personal. Not as in it’s secret exactly, but that it personally relates to me, and directly relates to my first point in that I feel there are things that were not relavent to know because of the nature of our marriage, but with the nature changing, it becomes relevant. I’d like you to not feel put of balance if my crew brings up bits about my life you aren’t aware of. Oh you’re concerned.” She says. “it’s nothing bad. well, I mean there are sad parts to bits that have happened. For someone who keeps things close, I’ve been keeping things closer. I’ve made an effort to stop being so guarded, and the person I should be least guarded with is you. I have to remedy that.

“and.” She says.

“there’s more.”

“of course. the obvious subject. Why I’m here, why I said you had to get clean in the first place, why I’m being flexible on it, both the selfish reasons and the less so. This I feel warrants conversation first, the only competing point being if you are open to the idea of a more blunt and complete reveal. I’ll start there if that’s alright.”

“and what is it _you_ have to say about my wanting a blunt reveal.”

“I want a more blunt one. I know it isn’t the most convenient, but a slower reveal requires not omission, but active deception. I’m open to it, with the exception of my brother, and would like it to match whatever level of people you reveal the whole truth too, and how much detail it includes. So if john knows, I’d tell my closest friend. related, but not directly, is that I’d like you meet my dad. as soon as manageable. And my preference is you meet as much of my family you can manage, with as much honesty and transparency as you can be comfortable with. Also, I’m absolutely _dying_ to meet mycroft via a blunt reveal, especially after what I just overheard.”

“oh?”

“not to be an asshole. but if there isn’t a more perfect way to bring your point. Points actually home, I imagine ‘hello, this is julie, my wife.’ is the best among them.”

He laughs gently. “that is true. and mother would be immensely pleased to know I’d told him finally. but he is also a concern.”

“oh it would royally piss me off if he set people on me to be surveilled, but that’s not something I have a lo of control about. And I’m sure I can convince mabel to give him an earful if he does.”

“you’d sic our mother on him?”

“if necessary.” She says. “but that reveal offers up the opportunity to present the importance of him NOT doing that, and the concern for that behavior occurring be a prime motivator in his not knowing before now.”

She nods once to emphasize her point.

“and why do you want to do this now, as opposed to four months from now? I’m assuming something happened.”

“sherlock.” she says leaning forward. “why do you think I said you needed to be clean for me to move in?”

“you said it was because you respected yourself enough to not make a home out of a drugden.”

“I did say that. But you do understand that doesn’t mean that I don’t accept you, want you, and am no less committed because this struggle is one of the ones you have. it’s because I love you that I can’t enable you in that way. And yes, because I love myself and don’t particularly want to—hold on.” she says and goes to her bag. She pulls a book out, and sherlock leans forward. she flips it and reveals it isn’t a box at all, but a book with a lock.

“there is one key and only one.” she says. “you do have a stash here.”

He seems surprised.

“I could tell by your increased anxiety when I presented the option of me staying, the increase again when I mentioned security blanket stash, and also the fact that you’ve hidden something behind those books there very recently, probably today.”

He looks even more surprised.

“there’s only one key. Because I don’t particularly want to go to jail for possession.”

She hands him a key with a blue NA tag. A hefty metal one.

“this is not permission.” She says. “I am emotionally invested in you, and in your wellbeing. I do not want to watch you slowly destroy your mind or throw away any of who you are for a high. It’s an automatic part of loving you. It is however, a statement that what helps you to stay clean I have no intention in interfering. If you keep a stash, I ask you keep it here so that you aren’t likely to go to jail if this place is ever searched, and that I will not go down with you.”

Her voice is soft, but it softens still as she takes his hand. “you might look at the fact that you slipped as something negative. I don’t. relapse is a normal part of recovery, although a difficult one, or so I’m told. You can’t give yourself permission to relapse, but you have to forgive yourself if you do. It’s not easy. It’s harder still to get back on the wagon, tempting to stay longer and longer before returning to the proverbial wagon. You may have slipped, but you got back on again, without hesitation.”

“not everytime.”

“it’s gotten shorter between though. not longer. I pay attention to what you tell me. you said you slipped and took a half dose of normal and said sorry. You restarted the work that same day. You restarted the journey after a single occurance, on the same day recommitting yourself to sobriety. This is extremely compelling.” She says. “when I say you can’t give yourself permission to relapse, but you have to forgive yourself if you do, that’s not just you specific. I won’t ask you to promise you won’t ever relapse, because that isn’t a promise you can make. I do not give you permission, but I will forgive you if you do, because the promise you can make is that you won’t give up. that you’ll hop back on the wagon again, and that you’ll know the hand I give you is a hand up so you can return the course, not a hand making it easier to stay down.”

She holds his eyes seriously.

“I will know if you slip, without you telling me, and if you find it too daunting to say it out loud… especially if it messes with your momentum forward on that path, and we are seeing each other regularly, this is a tool you might use.” She says touching the token. “you can hang it on a wall. As a reminder for yourself that you can promise to get back on the wagon, and as a way to be honest with me without needing to talk about it.”

She hands him a second short chain as well. “this also is part of that tool. If you think it sounds like a good suggestion, this can serve as a reminder in the same capacity. Current chip to tell me you slipped. This to tell you to stick anyway. If there is not a better metaphor for marriage, I cannot think of it. You do your best, you stick even if you don’t meet an expectation, you forgive because it’s more important to stick then to throw yourself into disappointment, or resentment, or whatever else. And you still take on shit, because you still deserve respect even if you slip. Which is why I asked for this in the first place. it’s the take no shit part.

Sherlock, I meant what I said about not living in a drugden. I mean it. that includes using me as a replacement. Work I know is the best help for you, and I know you take more risks then absolutely necessary because it is a replacement.”

“no.”

She looks at him. “oh. reverse that. work is the true addiction, and substance is the replacement. That’s not entirely true though. It used to be, but it hasn’t been in a long time. Am I right?”

He looks down, some shame across his face.

She takes his hand. “that’s kind of what serious drugs do to everyone. my point isn’t to shit on you though. my point is that I can’t be the next replacement. A hand up, nota hand down. not a security blanket. We do not save each other, because we are equals. I cannot be your sponsor. I can be your life partner, your wife, family, and friend. I cannot be your enabler. And I also can’t be your sponsor. Especially because you started this because I asked it of you. It’s too close to home. To enmeshed and emotionally invested. I wanted to know you would be prepared to accept that I would still be independent. That you can’t depend on me to replace something else because I’m my own flawed individual with serious wanderlust and easily prone to cabin fever. I will happily accompany on a work/case/adventure/game, if INVITED, but we are separate. Even living together, we can never be absolutely and always together and available to each other. I recognize that me being here may in fact make it a lot more difficult, especially if I can’t be a replacement. You’ll never not work at this. and if it becomes a serious enough issue, that our house does feel to controlled by the presence and use of illegal and/or controlled substances, that I will not consider this to be my home. It’s not easy for me to say, because it feels like a threat. but you need to be aware of the consequences. And you also need to be aware that it is not an all or nothing situation. Not even a little. If it’s a significant enough problem, I might not live with you, but I still be with you, and I’ll return if I settles. I am absolutely ready to be not just married to you, but transparently. My concern was living with you, not being known as your wife. I am of course, somewhat concerned about being well known as such a private person, but I’m a performer so I already deal with that at odds paradox. Which is part of why the idea of a blunt reveal appeals to me actually, because we can have some fun with it’s media release, and a period of time where we’re very in the eyes that doesn’t last as long as a generally high level for a longer period of time by an ease into it.”

“what do you mean by a blunt reveal. As opposed to what?”

“we’d publicly, both among friends we are keeping it from and after a delay via media, begin a relationship, starting with dating and progress to living together and marrying.”

“my parents would love it if we had another wedding they came to.”

“still an option if we do the second option. I’d be more than happy to marry you again with all our friends and family, now that our marriage resembles the kind society expects. Excuse me. now that it will I mean.” she says. “but we probably should decide soon one way or the other. the longer we wait to decide if it’s a smooth transition or a blunt reveal, the more push we’ll have to have a transition because it becomes a bigger deception the longer we wait. So what are your thoughts on a blunt reveal or transition.”

“if we did a blunt reveal, when would you move in.”

“bags.” She says gesturing.

“so, immediately.”

“it could wait a few days, but I will insist we transition if the decision were delayed longer than a week or so. The only reason to delay the move is to think on it, or plan the reveals. It makes it a lot easier to discuss relationships of friends and family, or important information that might be brought up to avoid too much of being caught off guard by not knowing something—”

“isn’t that hypocritical to be so bluntly revealing our status while preventing blunt reveals about us from others? And what could possibly be revealed that we haven’t picked up on.”

“I just revealed I had a brother you didn’t know I had. There’s a story that goes with it.

“which is?”

“if we go through all of that we’ll never get to the bedroom.” She says before smiling slowly. “your parents are waiting to know if we’re inviting mycroft to brunch tomorrow.”

“inviting… are we having brunch with my parents?”

“I am. But if we are inviting mycroft we can move it in town. I have a reservation at a place in town for five just in case.”

“but they’re waiting on confirmation.”

“I told them I’d make the reservation and see if you were joining us or not. They don’t know it’s also including if we’ll be telling mycroft, and getting him to join us like the dickheads we are.”

He laughs.

“well I suppose all that effort to keep you disguised was for not.” he says. she grins. “not at all. the best dramatic reveal is one that comes in stages, yet still leaves so much impact for the last reveal. The person isn’t actually a man. The person corrects the honorific. the person knows your parents and greets them with familiarity, and is then revealed to be your wife. preferably by you.”

He grins more broadly and she grins back before dropping. “one thing. that girl, molly. Woah hold.” She says. “on the subject of the reveal, for her do it very soon, and do it in private, if it all possible. I ask you do it this way as she’s your friend, but obviously has struggled with feelings for you. It’s all well and good to shock ohers, but it shouldn’t be used to hurt people if at all possible. I won’t tell anyone other than my brother until you tell her which could get very odd if you delay on that. but she I think might also be a compelling reason to want a blunt reveal as well. It won’t be easier for her I imagine to watch a relationship fold in front of her, under the assumption that if she were different you might have reciprocated. Knowing you couldn’t because you were married the whole time, especially if you express, because you feel it’s true, that it was a happy but unorthodox marriage. Unless you met her before we married of course.”

“no. after.” He says. “the only person I knew before was Lestrade, and not well. I didn’t move to London completely until a good time after.”

“I remember.” she says. “like two, three years.”

“yes.” he says.

“okay, your turn o say whaever you might want to before we retire.”

“so… to be clear. if I say stay… if I say let’s lift the veil—”

“then you call mycroft and tell him there’s brunch with your parents and too meet you here at eleven. I’ll call your mother.”

“it’s late.”

She texts. “she’s up. if you’re going to call—”

He pulls out his phone and redials.

_Yes?_

“tomorrow we’re having brunch with mum and dad.”

She texts. SENT: _I have news you’ll be very happy to hear. Will you meet us both at Baker Street at eleven. Or rather, between 11:03 and 11:05._

_That’s awfully short notice sherlock._

“They’re insistent you come as well. A family brunch isn’t complete with family missing.”

She nods smiling, her eyebrows coming together in surprised appreciation.

RECEIVED: _@ Bakerstreet? Are you there now._

SENT: _and will be remaining here. We_

SENT: _as in you both, Sherlock, and Mycroft will be having brunch at eleven thirty._

SENT: _after sherlock tells mycroft who I am. Preferably with you both being part of it._

There’s a pause and she can practically hear Mabel Holmes turning to Beafort Holmes in excitement.

SENT: _it is a surprise though._

RECEIVED: _obviously._

SENT: _it’s important that sherlock still tell mycroft himself. He’s telling him now that you insist a family brunch have all family present._

RECEIVED: LOL. _That’s perfect. Shall I call to yell._

SENT: TBD.

_You have got to be kidding,_ says mycroft.

“if I don’t tell mum you’re coming she’ll call you herself.”

_For the love of god._

“do you want her to call you or will you be here.

_I’ll be here. I suppose I can meet your potential vagrant flatmate._

“yes they’ll be here still then I imagine. Eleven.”

_Can’t I meet you at the restaurant._

“I don’t actually know where we’re going. It’s a surprise.”

She nods again.

_Fine. I’ll see you at the flat._

“eleven o’clock.”

_Eleven._

They hang up.

SENT: _not necessary._

RECEIVED: _I’ll call anyway._

SENT: _S said the restaraunts a surprise. which it is since he doesn’t know._

RECEIVED: _understood._

She smiles. “you’re mother is such a delight. She’s calling him anyway.”

“Except it means we have to wait until she calls me too before we retire.”

She shrugs. “we’ll be doing that plenty, but we can only do this once. I need to call my brother anyway.”

She dials.

“hey.”

_Hey where are you._

“planning a surprise. is your schedule clear tomorrow?”

_Uh, yeah. why?_

“I need you too meet me at the restaurant called Speedy (). Sherlock Holmes is letting us in so we can video call dad and show him the inside of the flat. He’ll be letting us in at eleven, so be here just before. Don’t be late though.”

_Oh dad will like that._

“I know. I’m about to call him and make sure he knows to be free. You’ll be there.”

_Yeah. I mean I don’t know why it’s a big deal I be there._

“mostly because dad will want more than one perspective.”

_That’s true._

“and because you’ll take pictuers while I have dad on the phone.”

_Ah. Yeah alright. I’ll see you then. Do I bring annie._

“no. just you. he was pretty adamant I only bring one other person.”

_Okay. well see you then. where are you though?_

“I’m wandering around before I work on work arrangements.”

_Insomniac._

“you sleep enough for both of us. I’ll see you then.”

_Alright. See you then love._

She dials as sherlock gets the call from his mother, who is so excited.

“dad hold on just one sec.” she says. “here let me trade off. Will you speak with my dad while I talk with mabel.”

“i… yeah. mum I’m trading phones so I can talk with her dad.”

“hi mabel. So this is the plan as it stands.”

“hello.” says sherlock.

_Well hello. it’s about damn time._ says a deep southern American accent of a man who sounds advanced in years. _Jameson is fine. You don’t strike me as the type to call an inlaw father._

“your intuition on that is correct Jameson. Sir.”

_Sir? hm. Well I won’t deprive you of offering respect. It’s good to finally speak with you. I hear you’ll be telling Cal tomorrow._

“along with my own brother.”

_Good. Well you two enjoy those early moments living together, and I look forward to seeing you as well as hearing this reveal. You should know I will be planning to fly out as soon as you can have time to visit with me. And I know the other side of her family will meet with you too. do me a favor though and wait to meet the Rosamund side until after we meet.”_

“alright.”

“what’s he saying.”

“To wait until I meet him before meeting with the rosamund side.”

She nods. “switch?”

“I’m being told we’re switching again.”

_Hold._

“okay.”

_I will have bone’s to pick with you. You should know that. and you should also know that I expect you to be exceptionally good to my Julia._

“yes sir.” he says.

_Good, okay you can hand me off.”_

They trade. “dad.” she says. “I haven’t filled him in on literally any family dynamic. I’ll let you know once I have. Yes even when it comes to Cal. Yeah that part you’ll probably overhear and the rest probably won’t wait more than a day. Maybe two. But don’t worry about the airfare. Cal and I will cover it.”

_I am so thrilled darling. I thought she wasn’t planning on even considering moving in until you’d reached twelve—_

“stop.” he says.

_Oh. is everything alright?_

“yes. it’s good. I just don’t want to talk about my sobriety right now. In fact, I think you should talk to her about why she’s here after eight. I’m so tired of talking about it.

She nods indicating she’ll do it.

_Alright love. but it is good yes_

“yes mum. It’s more than good.”

_I’m glad. She’s let me in on the reveal plan and I cannot wait. Oh Julie this is so exciting. What does this mean for everyone else._

“we’ll be telling friends and family over the next few days.”

“not media though.” she says.

“Julie says not media though.”

_Not yet you mean._

“I imagine so.”

“yes dad. I’ll be telling him that too, but I’d like to settle in before we talk about that. It’s not pressing. Exactly.”

“her brother will also be finding out tomorrow morning as well.”

_What? She has a brother?!_

“it was a surprise to me as well. His name is Cal. They’ll be calling her father and we’ll reveal to him as well.”

_Oh that’s nice. And I’ll bet it will lighten the sting for mycroft a bit._

“yes I imagine it will.”

_I’m so excited. Alright I’ll let you go. You two enjoy your night, and perhaps start working on grandkids for us as well._

“Christ mother. One thing at a time.”

_I’ve waited twelve years just for your brother to know. I’m not waiting another twelve to bring it up._

“you could wait a day. She hasn’t even fully moved in yet.”

“good bye dad. is she asking about grandkids?”

“yes.”

“speaker?”

“you’re on speaker mum.”

“I am moved in, since her I am in. I have some stuff to move in too though. but you can absolutely wait to start pushing for grandbabies. It feels particularly excellent to be telling people I’m married without the news that there’s a baby on the way. but we should say goodbye so we can have fun practicing the process.”

_That’s my son your talking about._

“it’s my reproductive sex organs you’re pushing to have inseminated.”

_What a way with words you always have._

“yup. We’ll see you tomorrow Mabel.”

_Alright. See you then._

They hang up, and she smiles at him. “shall I take the tea to the kitchen?”

“I’ll take the bags o the bedroom.” He says. she nods, smiling even more broadly and nods. she stops though. “Will?” she says.

“what?”

“you quit smoking didn’t you?”

He pauses, some anxiety showing, and she turns.

“or rather, if I open a window, do I get to?”

“I’m not sure mrs hudson will be pleased.”

“I’ll ask her about it when we speak. But I’ve cut way down. six or less a day, although the goal is two so I tend to fall in the middle. but for tonight?”

“are you jonsing then?” he says.

She smiles at him. “for a cigarette? No. not yet.” She says.

He nods and she follows him in. She pauses at the door as he sets the bag carefully down by his own bureau.

“will you stop smiling like a loon.”

“no.” she says. “I will do no such thing.” she says it but the smile softens, her eyes narrowing and the look intensifying before lifting the sweater off, revealing no bra beneath, but a black ribbon tied in a bow she’d tucked under her shirt so it wasn’t visible, the bow sitting at the hollow of her throat.

He looks at her, his own eyes narrowing.

She turns on the balls of her socked feet, shutting and locking the door before lifting her arms to undo the intricate braid. Her hair is much longer than it had appeared and falls in cascading waves to past the shoulders, auburn tinged ends going almost half way up but hidden by the tuck of the braid. Her hair is a natural rich brown color, lighter then his own by just noticeable shade differences. The red is strong at the ends but fades up.

“henna?” he asks walking forward.

She looks at him from over her shoulder. “mm. back from the dead red. Both coats are henna—”

“yes. just different types. You had help doing this?”

“oh of course. when annie joined up.”

He wraps his arms around her waist. “and is annie one of the girls you’ve entrained yourself with?”

“between husband and wife. no.”

“why is that between husband and wife?” he says.

She turns to him.

“it’s an interesting dynamic, and one that requires a lot of distracting and time consuming explanation. No isn’t really right though unless I also add, not exactly.”

He nods. “I look forward to it.” he says reaching a hand down to unfasten the button on her pants. She unbuttons his shirt before stepping away, closer to the bed, bending as she removes her pants, revealing black knee high socks and lacey black panties. He removes his shirt quickly tossing it aside pulling the condoms out from his wallet and dropping the wallet and the other two from within it on his bedside. She snatches it from him and he smiles before wrapping his arms around her and backing her against the bedroom door. she smiles as she kisses him back, the hand with the foil package around his neck. he steals the package back, one hand at her face, the hand with the package at her waist as she fervently unbuttons his pants and unzips, he creates enough space between them to rip the package open with his teeth. Carefully though, before putting the condom on. she bites her lip briefly and kisses him, leaning into him so they can walk backwards toward the bed but he forcefully leads her back to the wall. She laughs, and then laughs higher and more excited as he surprises her by lifting her up. She wraps her stockinged legs around him, a hand going down to slide her panties to the side, an arm around his shoulders. Sherlock slides one of his hands between them, running between her legs causing her to gasp, her breathing deep. She groans once, twice, and he slows so the groan changes pitch to one of deeper wanting. He slides himself inside and brings the hand to the back of her leg, the other moving to a cheek of her ass as he lifts her a bit and then moves inside her.

They kiss until the need to breath more freely wins over, panting in each others ears as the move closer, faster. She grips his hair her breath hot against his neck and shoulder.

* * *

 

“So.” says sherlock. “no. don’t remove them.” he stops her, breathless still against the wall.

“If my legs are this unsteady I can’t imagine how yours are.” she says

“leave them on.” he says. “for now.” he steps away and sits on the bed to remove his shoes. She walks around him to the window and opens it, chilly air breezing in as sherlock stands back up to remove his pants.

“oh so you can get undressed but I can’t?”

“not completely.” He says pulling the covers back. She smiles and joins him in the bed,, but doesn’t lay down, instead sitting with a knee up, leaning against the headboard. Sherlock lays with his head propped up in his hand.

“So what of this case you have for me?”

“one track mind.” She says. “normally when a woman says that to a man it means something else.”

“yes yes. quit stalling.”

Her mouth tics up. “mm, no.” she says.

“your own blunt dramatic reveal?” he asks.

“yes.” she says. “emphatically yes.”

“have you committed some kind of crime?”

“ever or in regard to the reveal specifically?” she says. “because ever: well, obviously.”

He reverse-smiles at her.

“You can’t ask me any questions about it because I won’t answer.” She says.

He scoffs and rolls, but she just laughs a bit.

* * *

 

He rolls smoothly up and out of bed so he stands at the foot of it, before pulling her down slowly by her calf. She laughs softly as he pulls her down.

“Will!” she whispers insistently.

“Julie.” He says.

“where’s your landlady?”

“you know where.” He says.

“no I mean it’s late. Shouldn’t they be home by now?”

He shrugs. “I’m sure it’ll be soon.”

“I’d hate to have the surprised spoiled because she came home.”

“Then be quiet.” He says, before taking her other leg and pulling her more forcefully toward him. She cries out in surprise before stifling it, and giggling a bit.

“listen better.” He says.

“yes sir.” she says just above a whisper. He lifts one leg high, very high up in front of him before hooking his thumb under her sock and slowly pulling it down, his other hand following, caressing the skin beneath. He bends the leg at the knee and sets the foot on the edge of the bed before repeating the gesture with the other, extending her leg up to touch the arch of her foot. He cups in in his hand, sliding the other hand back up, palm barely touching her, fingers rasping across her calf, her inner thigh. She gasps a little before arching her back. He stops and she makes an almost groaning noise. He tilts her knee and sets her foot on the edge before putting both hands on the outsides of her legs. She tenses a bit as he runs them back up slowly, lifting herself up when he gently tugs the edges of the panties.

He pauses looking at her before smiling.

* * *

 

She gyrates above him, both hands extended out to the headboard. His hands grip her wrists there. She’s just above him, her face close to his ear, her arms stretched to reach. He runs his hands down her arms to her ribcage, the sides of her breasts. One hand moves to the side of her face, running his lips against her throat and jaw. the other just beneath her breast. He kisses her and she drops a hand for better balance. she bites his lip and his breath hitches, his other hand to match his first, pushing her up before running them up over her breast, thumb catching one nipple and then the other. her hands go to his chest and she pauses touching the scar before pressing the heals of her palms into him to lift herself up and down with more power.

Her intensity increases until she lowers herself to him again and he bounces harder against her, a hand pushing and pulling a hip, another gripping her at the neck, tugging a bit as he kisses her hard. She kisses him fervently, keeping the arm around her head so her face stays close to his as she moans into his mouth, before pulling her lower, biting her shoulder. She cries out a little before moaning, tense to quite herself more as she groans through the pleasure racking her. He wraps around her and flips her so her back is on the bed before pushing both hands above her head. he kisses her before catching her bottom lip with his teeth. His right hand takes her face roughly, and she gasps once, and then more so as he bites a breast before sucking hard, leaving a mark. She arches her back as he presses into her. he brings the hand away from her face, the hand at her breast lifts up to the headboard. Her arms go around his shoulders, his hand behind a shoulder, possessive at her neck.

They’re chest press against each other, kissing deeply, gasping into one another before the pace becomes too intense and she moans with each thrust. She moans more. “sherlock.” she moans out and he groans. “oh fuck.” she says breathlessly. He begins to groan, his pace more disorganized. Her eyes roll back into her head before shutting them, tugging his hair and the skin at his shoulders as he groans louder, and then longer, a growl rumbling from his chest and throat that she can feel through where their skin touches. He groans again softly. And again, thrusting a few more times as he lowers.

* * *

 

She lays in the bed as he moves to the bathroom, the sound of a flush coming from inside. She rolls and takes the cigarrettes, taking one out and he takes the matchbook from her and then the cigarette, lighting it for her and sucking in the smoke once it’s lit before rolling into bed and passing it to her, handing her makeshift ashtray. They look at the ceiling, passing the cigarette back and forth for a moment before she shuts her eyes, holding the smoke in for a long moment before exhaling.

“I really hope mrs hudson doesn’t mind.”

“I’m sure tonight would make little difference.”

She opens her eyes and rolls onto her chest and elbows. “Tonight makes all the difference.” She says.

He looks at her softly, touching her cheek softly. She grins, reaches across him and takes the cigarette back.

“I love you Julie.” He says.

“That’s good.” she says softly. He laughs, just a breath.

“I know. Do you know I love you?” she asks it like it’s a simple question and not a romantic statement.

He smiles. “mm.” he says, stealing the cigarette back.

“I cannot believe I’m here.” she says as he holds the smoke in passing it back. She sucks in the last and puts it out, reaching to put it away before wiggling a bit for comfort.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” he says. She stills looking at him, hearing in his voice a vulnerability. Softer still he says. “thank you.”

She touches his face, brushing her thumb across his cheek bone, his eyes on her eyes, hers on his face before snapping to his. “you are my favorite person.” she says. he smiles a bit.

“still?”

“always.” She says. “don’t thank me yet. I haven’t truly begun to annoy you.”

She smirks at him after the statement and the corner of his mouth lifts more, his eyes crinkling.

* * *

 

John staggers up the stairs at two in the morning, Lestrade dropping him on the couch. He leaves a note on the table.

_In case you forgot. Mrs Hudson went to relieve the sitter for you so you could have a nice night our. Call her in the morning and check in._

_Greg._

* * *

 

Sherlock wakes up tucked close to Julie. A pirate ship tattoo is on her shoulder, the sails creeping up the right side of the back of her neck. The top crows nest and top flag high enough to be visible from a tshirt, if her hair is pulled up, but likely to be hidden or at least not noticed if the collar is up. It’s been there for years. The W.S.S. Holmes, something only sherlock knows it represents. He gently kisses to the side of it and she makes a soft noise. He caresses the ship before moving down. His hand moves to her thigh rotating her so he can slip between her legs. He is startled when she tenses, waking up, grabbing his hand hard.

“Will.” She says softly relaxing.

“who else?” he says softly back.

“no one which is why it startled me. Took a minute to remeh—”

She trails off as his hand resumes. “shut up.” he says softly.

“time?” she says.

“90 minutes till.” He says. she relaxes more.

“and you?” she whispers.

“I said shut up.” he says again.

* * *

 

She moves through the kitchen to make coffee and prepare tea so that it just has to be set to boil, standing as it brews. Sherlock is still in the shower. She takes a glass from the cupboard and fills it with water, sipping it before walking to the living room to look about.

She turns and finds a man sleeping on the couch.

“OH!” _Shatter._

John pops up, immediately wincing.

“shit.” She says. “Dr Watson. You startled me.”

John blinks at her. “oh you’re bleeding.” He says.

“hm?” she says looking down. “oh.”

 “did you break something?” calls sherlock. she jumps over the glass going to the kitchen.

“Dropped a glass!” she calls back. “dustpan—no nevermind. Found it.” she says returning with paper towels, and kneeling down to pick up the glass. “I’ve got it.” she says softly.

“your foot.” He says taking a few staggering steps. She stands and puts a hand to him taking a chair. “sit dr watson. I’m fine. I didn’t mean to wake you. I mean I didn’t expect you’d be asleep in here to begin with but no use crying over broken water glasses.” She says laughing a bit. He laughs once and winces. “oh had a good time then?” she says as she returns o the glass, bending down to pickup larger pieces before sweeping the rest up, and laying paper towels down to blot gently.

She wears sherlock’s red dressing gown, the tone flattering against her skin, her hair damp.

“uh. Yes. sorry. what are you doing here?”

“back at you.” she says. “and was it really bad enough to warrant a subject change?”

“what?”

“the show last night? sorry, is that not where you cultivated your current hangover?”

“yes. sorry no it was good actually. Very good. Very different from earlier.” He says.

She nods. “mm. the benefit of being booked. Not that busking with your own work isn’t worth it, but it’s a lot more hit or miss. I’m so pleased you went though.”

“mm. and you were—”

“god, it was a busy night. I had a meeting with an old friend in town, then another meeting with a proprieter about a potential long term contract, then another meeting with a different friend, and then a meeting with several people about arrangements for at least the start of my time to London, along with fellow troubadours.” She says widening her eyes a bit to indicate the volume of what she’s saying. “I’ll get you some water. And I’ll hold it with both hands.” She says ticking her mouth up.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“I’m doing it anyway.” She says walking to the kitchen and returning in a moment before sitting down and pressing a towel to her ankle, where a shard skipped across her.

“can I see?”

“I’m just a bleeder.” She says. “always have been. It’s a fantastic advantage actually in fights because it almost always isn’t as bad as it looks.”

He looks at her curiously. “in fights? Do you get in a lot of fights?”

“moi?” she says, before smirking. “loads. It’s amazing I don’t have more scars.” She says. the shower stops and she stands up. “have you got a first aid kit?” she calls. The door swings open. “are you hurt?”

“a glancing blow by the mighty water glass.” She says.

“it’s in the bathroom.”

“perfect. Do you need the bathroom?” she says to john.

“why would I need the—John.” says sherlock stopping. His hair is still damp and his shirt unbuttoned, his trousers buttoned but not zipped.

She sputters in laughter. “oh that’s perfect.”

“what?” says sherlock.

“did you hear what you just said?”

He replays it. “oh.” he says laughing softly. “did you plan that?”

“happy accident. Do you need the bathroom?” she says. “now’s your chance. Although I’ll leave the door unlocked of course since it’s just… as they say, ‘putting my face on’ and the like. What a stupid yet accurate way of putting something.” She says going into the kitchen and making a cup of coffee before turning and looking around.

Sherlock hands her milk.

“Sugar first.” She says. “duh.”

He scoffs a laugh but hands her sugar before pouring a ton in her cup and smacking it on the counter.

“that’s just rude.” She says.

“what’s the plan then?” says sherlock.

“you know the plan. Nothing’s changed. Well except apparently I’m going to have a sugar high.” She says. she widens her eyes and he looks at john. she shrugs. “he was asleep on the couch. we startled each other. Seriously though doctor Watson, if you need the bathroom, take the chance now because I’m very close to running late.”

“right.” He says and gets up, walking carefully to the bathroom.

“don’t reveal until you do so for your brother.” she says softly. “nicer, and dulls the sting if they find out together, for both I imagine.”

He pauses. “yes. except…”

“do you not want the doctor to know? I thought we were telling family and friends, in that, or as close to that order as possible.”

“no no. he should, but how did you figure out… did you set it up for him to be here.”

“I told you. happy accident.”

“so you figured it’d be best to cooccur in a matter of seconds based solely on their status in my life?”

“instinct I think.” She says. “which, tell that girl you were with today.”

“what?”

“that girl. The one who had feelings for you in the past, and still has sore spots about it. tell her next, and alone.”

“why?”

“because it spares her the embarrassment of everyone watching her reaction.”

“,,,oh.” he says.

“and if you say, ‘no one but my parents knew. I only told mycroft today, does she know mycroft?”

“not well but of him a bit yes.”

“today, and john only found out this morning because I woke up to him on the couch without time to redirect. _Claro?”_ she says this softly as she moves to place a webcam on the shelf.

“what are you—”

“so dad can watch. Bluetooth is amazing.” She says hooking the wires she had brought with her to the back of the tv and pulling her phone out, dialing. Her father appears on the screen and she turns it off, taking the phone to her ear. “dad, hi.” She says. “yes it does seem to be working well.”

John comes out just as she says this and she adds. “listen dad I have to get ready for the day. Can I call you back?”

She listens. “uhhh. Yeah I don’t know how to answer that. I’ll call you back.” She says and hangs up. “did you take some pain reliever doctor?”

“you sound like the doctor.” Says sherlock.

“I am the master of the hangover.” She says. “of course I mastered it by not drinking like I’m sixteen at a kegger anymore. Some parts of getting older really shouldn’t be ignored, like how much more hangovers start to suck. I’d prefer not to feel like I’m dying unless I actually am. Or never.” She says. “might die and feel like I’m dying are very different. I’ll not be surprised if the both of you know what I mean by that.”

Sherlock laughs a bit.

“you might want to finish getting dressed. Your fly’s undone.” She says. he looks down as she laughs walking to the bathroom and shaking her head. “famous detective can’t notice his own trouser zippers down.”

He sighs. “I THOUGHT you might have been hurt.”

“and I desperately needed you to save me from a scrape.” She says sarcastically.

“you got blood on my floor!” he calls back.

“your slippery, easily startled water glass got my blood on the floor, and oyu can give it a stern talking to by directing your comments to the trash can.”

He sighs walking to the bedroom and emerges in a moment.

“did she spend the night?” says john quietly.

“hmm. who?” he says.

“what do you mean who?” says john. “the woman wearing your robe, in your bathroom.”

“oh for god’s sake john. She’s hear to take advantage of a non-communal bathroom. Did you spend the night on the couch?”

“I guess I must have done.”

“so the babysitter’s been with Rosie all—”

“oh shit.” Says john popping up and going to the couch to get his phone, where he finds the note. “oh. no.” he says. “mrs hudson relieved the sitter.”

Sherlock nods once taking a sip of his coffee and then grimacing. “oh god.” he says. “blugh! Did you switch my coffee with yours!?” he calls getting up and walking to the kitchen.

He hears laughter from the bathroom.

“that’s a yes.” he says pouring it out. “you are incredibly annoying. You know that right?”

“you should see me when I’m trying to be annoying.”

“I really shouldn’t.” he says.

John watches in amazement as the phone rings in his ear, and then startles when a “hello” sounds in his ear.

“hi. Mrs Hudson. Greg left a note that you relieved the sitter.”

Sherlock returns with coffee and sits back down.

“yes thank you. yeah I am definitely feeling it. you what?” he says. “oh mrs hudson, you didn’t have to do that… oh you are superb. Is molly there now? would you mind.” Sherlock opens his phone up and peruses it. They hear her walking around, and a hairdryer start. John thanks molly and they speak for a minute before saying goodbye.

“sherlock.” says john.

Sherlock says nothing, typing something instead.

“sherlock.” john repeats.

“hmm?” he says.

“she, someone you just met, spent the night just to use the shower?” says john.

“Mizz Dawson you mean?”

“yes of COURSE that’s who I—” the hairdryer stops. He drops his voice. “yes that’s who I mean.” he says.

“who says she spent the night?” says sherlock.

“well, since I was dropped her when the bar closed and she was startled by me when she came from the kitchen and not the stairs…”

“door is still unlocked, but I’m dressing.” She calls.

“why are you leaving the door unlocked if your dressing?” he calls.

“In case the doctor finds the contents of his stomach needs to be urgently evacuated.”

“we have a sink.” He says.

“oh that’s lovely.” She calls sarcastically.

“did you hear that?”

“hear what?” she calls.

“what’s lovely?”

“messed up the face I just put on.” she calls as if obvious. “will you shut up, or I’m going to end up stabbing my eye with a mascara wand or something.”

He shakes his head. “god, how does anyone manage living with them.” he says.

John blinks at him. “what?”

“hmm? what?”

“them?”

“women.” sherlock says. “obviously. you’d think living without mothers would be enough to put us off the idea forever.”

John shuts his eyes before widely rolling them.

Sherlock’s phone beeps and he sighs.

John looks at him curiously.

“my mother’s apparently insisting I have brunch with them and mycroft. lovely. There goes my Sunday.”

The door opens downstairs and they hear steps on the stairs.

“and that’ll be mycroft.” says sherlock.

“good morning. John. are you joining us for brunch.”

Sherlock’s phone goes off. “problem?” he says.

“sorry, what?”

“you’re welcome to join if you’d like. It’ll be an absolute bore but it might be more bearable with not quite so prone to endless drivel.”

“what an invitation. So I’m guessing things didn’t work out with the vagrant.”

“the what?” says john.

“Sherlock brought home a vagrant last night, just in from town.”

“do you mean Julie?” says John.

“Julie. Who is jul-lie” he says pausing a bit when she appears in the kitchen doorway. “that would be me.” she says coffee cup in hand.

She wears a deep navy blue dress, taken in at the waist, with swoops of scarf like material across the front and down the swooped back in two lighter shades one of which matching the line across the waist. Black lace overlays the peeking blue underskirt. Her hair is in a high ponytail, her hair falling in cascading curling waves, except for a section flipped across and curling by one side, and two delicate tendrils that escaped A black ribbon tied in a bow, the end dipping to mid chest. She has a small scar at her collarbone, and tan sheer stockings on her long legs, ending in almost modest high heeled pumps of a high quality in velvet black. She sets the coffee down as she approaches smoothly before putting a hand out. “Julianna Rosamunde-Dawson.” She says pronouncing the French in the middle. “and you are?”

“Mycroft Holmes.” He says taking her hand, and she takes his in her other as well, squeezing instead of shaking. “miss Dawson.”

“miss?” she says, disgusted. “no no. Never miss. Mizz.” She corrects.

“Mizz.” He responds. her chest beeps, and she pulls her phone from her dress. “hi dad. I told you I’d call you back.” She says. “you did he me say that right sherlock?”

He nods.

“what? oh. yes yes. would you?” she says. “okay love you too we’ll talk in a bit. Sorry.” she says to him. “parents.” she says.

“mm.” says mycroft.

“no I meant yours.” she says as the door opens. “I assume you two are siblings on not cousins.”

“you assume correctly, says mr holmes coming through the door. “my goodness, Julie you look incredible.”

He says this taking her hands in his.

“John. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“He was asleep on the couch. Sherlock is annoyed I bled on his floor.”

“are those connected?” says beufort.

“I startled and dropped the glass I was holding.” She says indicating the three bandaids in a line on the outside of her leg. “but that’s not relavent.” She says. “mabel, it’s so good to see you.” she says.

“oh likewise love.” she says, hugging her close. “Although I think I’m more pleased then you are.”

“a mother’s prerogative.” she says letting go. “oh and you’re wearing the watch I got for you--”

“christmas before last.” She says pleased. “of course.”

“do you know each other mummy.”

“well of course we know Julie.” Says mabel.

“she’s my wife.” says sherlock.


	3. A Nice Brunch with Bastard Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nature of the relationship between a one Julianna Rosamunde-Dawson and Mister William Sherlock Scott Holmes is revealed. John, the Dawsons and the Holmeses all go to brunch where more still is revealed about who Julianna is, what her past is like, and who she knows, ending in a spectacular display of dominance and humiliation from Bastard Jack to a Ms Irene Addler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a ROUGH draft. I apologize for spelling and grammatical errors.

## Chapter Three: Brunch with Bastard Jack

“She’s my wife.” says Sherlock.

John’s face shows absolute incredulity for a moment before dropping a bit. “what?!” says John.

“She’s my wife.” says Sherlock.

“How can she be your wife?” says John.

“what do you mean how? You’ve been married, it can’t really be a mystery.”

She types something on her phone.

“it’s not possible.” Says mycroft.

“why not?” says sherlock.

“because I would know. I marriage license being filed is not something I’d miss.”

Someone comes up the stairs and a very tall man comes through the door, but stops. “what’s going on?”

“Cal. My brother.” she says introducing them to the room. “Cal, you’ll remember Doctor Watson of course. And this is Doctor Mabel Holmes, Her husband Beaufort, the other holmes brother, mycroft, and of course sherlock holmes.” She says. “well William Sherlock Scott Holmes technically. My husband.” She says.

“you’re…” he looks at her. “wait. Will? This is WILL? THE WILL?” he says sounding increasingly excited.

“you talked about me.”

“not in detail.”

“Not in deta—She said there would always and only be one man she would and could ever love.” he says. “Christ I figured it was a dead boyfriend. Oh you little. you’ve been married this whole time you sneaky little shit.” He says.

She grins at him. “I’m like your family dealer.” She says.

“what?” says sherlock.

“my fam—”

“brother in law.” she says.

“oh my fucking.” He bends over, touching his chest before lifting up and looking at the ceiling, tears in his eyes. “brother in fucking law.” he suddenly wraps his arms around sherlock, startling him with the affection and causing him to fall back a bit.

“oh that’s hilarious.” She says bending over laughing herself. “mabel—”

“already did it.” she says showing her the phone where she’s taken a picture.

“William fucking sherlock detective fucking holmes, that dad. Wait, does dad know.”

She puts a hand up and moves to the shelf taking the camera and setting it on the tv before plugging her phone in and turning it on, revealing the face of an older man whose laughing.

“did you know dad?”

“I should hope so, although I am very irritated you know his parents so well but we haven’t met.”

“oh dad don’t start that again.” she says. “fucking move old man.”

He pretends to be offended. “old man. Listen little lady.”

“Not little.” she says.

“or a lady.” Says cal. “was he watching the whole time?”

“yup.” She says.

“I can’t fecking believe it.” he says.

“this is a farce.” Says mycroft annoyed.

Sherlock pulls something from his coat. “the marriage license.” He says.

Mycroft takes it from him and opens it, before sighing. “confidential marriage license.”

“from the state of california.” She says.

“so this is real?” says john.

“it appears so.”

“Can I see?” says Cal. Mycroft hands it to him. “Fucking TWELVE YEARS!?” he almost shouts.

“not until December.” Says sherlock.

“that is such bullshit!” says Cal, but he’s laughing. “he’s been related to you longer than I have, for fuck’s sake.”

“so much for language.” says julie.

“wait, what?” says sherlock.

“the language? Your mother—”

“obviously NOT that.”

“wait, he doesn’t know about me?” says Cal.

“wasn’t really relevant until now.”

“wasn’t really—you cu—” she smacks him in the diaphragm. “for god’s sake, if you’re going to keep swearing at least be more creative about it.” she says. “I like my insults to come with at least some flair.”

“HOW have you been married for TWELVE—”

“eleven—”  
“ALMOST twelve YEARS? Does Julian know? wait does ANNIE know?”

“not yet, and don’t spoil it. And no press. That goes for everyone in the room obviously, bot that I think it’s much of a concern. we’ll tell who we want to and only who we tell gets to know, _claro.”_

“que si.” Says her brother. “I do not envy you that conversation with Annie. Oh my god, how does that even—”

“okay Cal, maybe breath for a minute. Good god man.” She says.

“twelve years” says john. “twelve years? And no one knew.”

“our parents knew. Well his parents and Dad.” she says.

“the ROSAMUND’S don’t KNOW?” he says. “Oh they are going to absolutely MURDER you.”

“you insisted he tell us but you didn’t tell your own mother?”

“fuck the rosamund’s.” says her father through the screen.

“oh for the love of--- Dad, seriously, don’t start with that. and if you’re going to, at least say it right.”

“you’re an American. I’m pronouncing it the American way.”

“christ on a cracker, old man. You raised ME better than that so don’t start with that intolerant—eheh! Hold your tongue and don’t even because you can too pronounce it, captain creole.”

“it’s pretty hard to say anything when you hold your tongue.” Says Cal.

John, mabel, and, sherlock, and Julie all let out some form of a surprise laugh.

“Now hold on girl.” He says. “I may be an old man, but I’m not slow enough to think it’s taking a very long time for you both to get around to WHY you’ve been married all this time without telling anyone but myself and two of the fine people in that room.”

She looks to sherlock, who looks at her. “well?” she asys.

“oh is that my job to tell?”

“duh.” Says her father.

She smiles. “I second that. two parantheses duh.”

“so funny.” He says sarcastically. “don’t we have a reservation.”

“less than a ten minutes away.” she says. “go on.”

“it should be obvious.” Says sherlock.

“sherlock.” says his mother warningly.

“the nature of the career I’ve chosen for myself means that I get death threats in bulk.”

Her brother stills.

“I’d never tell Julie how to live, and I know she doesn’t live a particularly domicile style of life.”

Cal laughs once. “no kidding.” He says. she smiles warmly at him.

“mm. but that doesn’t mean I would want the fact that I loved her be the reason she was in danger. It was a matter of safety.”

John looks at him seriously.

“but… you always said…”

“romantic _entanglements.”_ He emphasizes. “our lives are distinct from one another. Disentangled and separate. Or they were until now that is. but it was imperitive if we were keeping it secret that it actually be well kept, especially given that she wanders around the globe often off the grid and diffiuclt to find.”

“oh for god’s sake sherlock. with my resources I could have easily—”

“criminals, especially mastermind ones have resources too.” says sherlock.

She nods emphatically. “god do they.” She says.

“all the more reason to—”

“mycroft.” she interrupts. “there are many ways a master criminal might have found out about our relationship, including, for example, if you were to trade information with one of these mastermind criminals, such as one obsessed with your brother.” she holds his eye-contact. “or that your staff, who have zero investment in me would also protect both the fact that such a pressure point exists, and that the pressure point is often in a foreign country, far from the reach of your protection.”

“no one is far from the reach of my protection.”

“that reach isn’t protection.” Says sherlock. “it’s just the step by step stripping of independence and privacy, as I think we discussed last night.”

Cal looks confused. “I think I missed something.”

She smiles. “broad strokes is his brother is a government man. The type who can easily pull up records on a person we don’t even know are kept.”

“ah.” Says cal.

“john.” she says.

“hmm?” says john.

She looks at sherlock. “why didn’t you tell john.”

“you know why.” Says sherlock.

“well obviously, but John doesn’t.”

“oh. right.” He says. “I couldn’t tell you john until I’d told family. Kind of important to tell your brother they’ve got a new sister in law, or just a sister in law before you tell other people you’ve eloped.”

“well and it’s not like it was really relevant since you weren’t going to meet me and it wouldn’t impact anything to do with day to day life. distinct lives versus entanglement and all that. But now it is relevant since I’m moving in and everything.”

“why now?” says Cal.

“what?” she says turning.

“why are you telling people and, you know, tangling now? I mean, is the whole protection thing not there anymore? Have you retired or something.”

“god no.” says sherlock. “no.”

“so? isn’ she still in danger if people know, or…”

“actually, I was wondering that myself.” says his mother.

John looks at john. “mary.” He says.

“who’s mary?” says cal.

“someone who I promised to protect. And failed to do so.”

John swallows.

“that… and a particular conversation her husband had with me about taking chances while you have them, because they’re gone before you know it.”

She looks at sherlock.

“I didn’t suddenly realize I couldn’t live without her, because I can. Years before her, and even years with her, with full lives of our own. But I can’t protect her. I can try, and I won’t be able to resist trying.”

She scoffs. “ugh, no.”

He smiles a bit, before it drops. “I can live without you, but when I was shot you couldn’t see me in the hospital, after I got shot.” He says as explaination.

“you got shot?!” asks her brother.

“three years ago.” she says.

He nods. “well when I got shot she couldn’t come into the hospital without it raising questions as to who she was. Especially with everyone looking for the unknown person who shot me. She broke her own hand to get into the hospital without it seeming suspicious.”

“you said you lost a fight.”

“I didn’t say it was a person.”

“as opposed to?”

“a concrete support beam.” She says.

“can I finish?” says sherlock. she puts her hands up.

“anyway. She had to break her hand. She couldn’t just walk in. She couldn’t say, be my emergency contact. and when I was recovering I overheard mother speaking with her.”

She stills and turns.

“she said, “asking him to change anything about his life would be obscene and insult to the being of the man I love, but god I wish that… we don’t control if we’ll be there to say goodbye, but I don’t even have a fighting chance. And if there is even a small chance that telling him he better not even dare think about dying yet might stop it, it is a hard thing to live with.”” he pauses. “a year later mary died saving my life. witnessing that… and getting something like a final goodbye. Witnessing one between husband and wife.” he swallows. “I couldn’t protect mary. And I can’t protect you, and one day you will die. I can live without you. but I don’t want to find out if I can have you die without me. not without a fighting chance of being there, and not without giving you that chance at least. Because that chance is gone before you know it.”

She blinks at him and then takes a shaky breath. “wow.” She says. “that… that was…” she looks up and laughs. “not only was that better than your vows, it might possibly be better than mine.”

“well obviously when we do the big friends and family thing, that will get put in.”

“what?” says his mother. “are you two going to have a… what?”

“very belated post nuptial celebration?”

“we might just get married again.” he says.

“you what?” says his mother, touching her heart. “you—”

“we have to see if we can actually stand living together of course, but if we’re going to be married in the traditional sense, we might as well have a traditional wedding to match. After all, the worst part of eloping is that your family and friends don’t get to be there to tell the story of it.” she says. “family to be a part of it. we married only each other the first time, and so only we were a part of that, but lives brought to one home.” She says pausing. “is marrying into each others family, both family of blood and bond.” She says looking at mycroft, john, cal, and her father too. he puts a hand to his face. “julia.” He says. she nods.

“I told you old man.” She says. “you need to move to this side of the planet at the very least. You aren’t going anywhere before you come to England first. I need you here to give me away.”

His lip shakes a bit, and he nods.

“and you know you’ll absolutely have to be a part of it.” she says. “brother in laws have to be there to see us go through such a thing. it’s just part of being family. goes with the territory. And since your family.” she says to cal. He smiles at her tearfully. “brother in law.” he says looking at sherlock shaking his head. “I’m sherlock holmes’s brother in law.”

“my dad adopted cal. There’s a whole story and everything. several actually. but this kind of family stuff is pretty meaningful to him.”

“fucknig hell yea it is.” he says sobbing a bit.

“imagine what he’ll be like once he’s an uncle.” he says.

“what?” says cal. “uncle? UNCLE! holy shit oh my god. an UNCLE?”

“the brother of a mother’s child is an uncle, yes.” he says.

“you’re pregnant? OH my GOD!” he says picking her up.

“wha—hey woah. Put me down.” she says.

“I’m going to be an uncle.”

“she’s pregnant?!” says his mother. “oh sherlock.”

“woah. Put me HEY EVERYBODY HOLD.” She says suddenly loud, her voice ringing against the walls and several still. “opera.” She says for expaination. “what the SHIT sherlock.”

“Julie isn’t pregnant. For god’s sake.” he says. “if she were pregnant right now it would be immediately obvious.”

“huh?” says her brother.

“it’d be almost seven months if we I was. I’d be like OBVIOUSLY pregnant. I mean unless last night brings a surprise ‘happy accident’” she says making air quotes.

“oh. but… you said.”

“I meant when, not that it’s happening right this instant.”

“ _when?”_ says her father. “not _if_ but _when.”_

 _“_ i..” says sherlock.

“well the insistence he get clean and stay clean for a year before you’d move in makes a lot of sense now.” says beaufort.

She looks at sherlock and he looks at her. “wait… is that—”

“WOAH!” she says. “okay everyone stop.” she says. “chirst almighty and all the mighty ducks with him— everyone stop reading to things, mostly because I JUST showed up, at this flat, last night, because we have a reservation to make, and because we have a lot of other things to negotiate before WE have that conversation, let alone WE.” she says circling the room. “which isn’t me saying, please bring this up because I’m saying don’t even start. And I said he had to be clean for me to move in because I get a say in the conditions of what my own home environment is like and that is not a condition _I_ am okay.”

“she told you to get clean.” says mycroft. “it was for her.”

“ick and or wow.” She says. “actually, no or because I am genuinely mad now.”

“I—”

She looks at beaufort though. “that is not a remotely accurate portrait of any of this. Me moving in is not about one of the flaws hes working to improve upon.” She turns to mycroft, “My actions and choices are mine, his are his, and marriage just means we _discuss_ them with each other, not dictate. And people who get clean for someone else, or any reason that is external and therefore far more volatile and tenous tend not to stay clean, or really get clean at all. they just replace for a new external dependency. I am not a security blanket, my presence is not a reward—”

“well.”

“it’s a gift.” She says looking at him.

“a gift?” he says scoffing. “that’s not—”

“just as inviting me to share your home is a gift.” She says narrowing her eyes at him before addressing the rest of the room. “One I didn’t expect but one I will take and run with. but I am not a reward, and my absence is not a punishment, and this isn’t about that, and I will be thoroughly insulted, if instead of getting to know me, that one thing dominates conversation and gets given far more credit then it has or deserves. And the same goes for you cal, about getting to know sherlock and the family I’m a part of. Look at what’s on stage instead of staring at the rigging posts and calling that seeing the show.” She turns back to him. “and.” She says.

“how many ands are you going to throw out.”

“as many as I care to. _and_ you have two eyes don’t you.” she says gesturing at herself. Cal snorts a bit as sherlock raises his eyebrows at her.

 “of course you do. And other people have eyes too. the gift is that _you_ get to do a lot more than look.” She says. “and christmas gets to come a lot more often now that I’m here, which means giving each other gifts a lot more often.”

“oh my god.” says her brother.

“telling me my being here isn’t a gift.” She says rolling her eyes. “it is whatever the hell I say it is.”

“damn straight.” Says her father from he tv and she smiles.

“anyway. The current line up is brunch.” She says checking the time. “then split to tell those next in line for that discussion, so annie for me, then julian, then wait for the all good from him before telling the crew because they can’t keep a secret worth a damn. Possibly tell the rosamundes before the crew.”

“you probably should.”

“pah.” She says. “if I tell them they’ll arrive within the week.”

“I have a plane out there moday night.”

“I told you we’d cover it.” she says indicating cal.

He shrugs.

“mm. also, awesome.” She says, grinning in an almost helpless way. “that makes it easier. But julian won’t take it well and will probably tell the crew if I don’t get to them first so I’d get all essential people today if it all possible.” She says. “definitely trying to hit any people who might feel jilted by the news, or hurt for not knowing sooner.”

“molly.” Says john, before looking embarrassed to have said the name. “ah, er—"

“mm.” she says nodding unfazed. “is Janine in newspapers?” she asks.

Mycroft and john both looks surprised, but sherlock isn’t as fazed as they are. “yes.”

“okay skip her for last.”

“I hadn’t really planned—”

“well obviously you hadn’t, but last because she might print it.”

“you know it will possibly end up in print regardless.”

“it’s my intention it does.” She says. “with john getting the exclusive. Obviously. that is should you find it of enough interest to type up, of course.”

“you want it to hit the papers.”

She looks at him. “I’m surprised you haven’t picked up on this yet. Secrets are damaging largely _because_ they’re secrets. I’m sure, given the chance, whatever sting people feel for not knowing about this wouldn’t be present if they knew about it from the beginning. No regrets of course.” she says. “but that’s why it was important my dad know. and your parents, because that was a pain I wasn’t willing to take part in inflicting, and them knowing was of tremendous benefit. You’ve been out of the papers, even the gossip rags.”

“mm, yes, that’s been nice.”

“oh whatever. you’ve also had a slow down here at baker street. a mysterious woman suddenly starts living together. one with a reputation. Speculations fly, the pot get stirred, and then it’s revealed. Dun dun.” She widens her eyes before relaxing into a pose of explanation. “I’m a performer, and press is a fantastic tool for a performer.”

“you stay out of the press on purpose.” Says sherlock.

“because I’m married to a man who pisses people off for a living and had to keep that a secret. The marriage not the pissing off part.” she says looking at sherlock with a bit of teasing. “but we have all that news to break, possibly literally to the news. Then you have to at least really look at the case I’ve brought you—”

“you brought him a case?” says Cal.

“mmm.” she says nodding. “and I think introducing it will likely not be delayed much longer, so he may very well be on it tonight if all goes well and it strikes his fancy. But we have all that, and negotiating sharing space and seeing if we can stand to be around each other for longer, and live together before _we_ will be discussing even the hypothetical of children, so if everyone could stop trying to get me pregnant, that would be excellent.”

“and on that note.” Says her father. “you said ten minutes?”

She checks her watch. “right. It’s time to go.”

“I’ll call between afternoon and evening.” Says Cal, still sounding a bit shaky, “bye dad.” “bye dad.” she calls as well.

“lovely to meet you all. I’ll talk to you both soon, kids. Love you both.”

“love you back.” She shuts it off and pulls her phone out, picking up her coat.

“we should head out. John… is it alright that I call you John?”

“uh, yeah.” he says. “of course.”

“of course.” she says smiling. “good. will you be joining us?”

“for brunch?”

“yes. you’re welcome to come with us if you’d like, but we do need to go now if we are going to keep our table.”

“won’t it be a problem to bring an extra—”

“not at all.” she says.

“because you anticipated he’d be here?” asks sherlock.

Se smiles. “no. because I know the manager. And the owner.” She says. “not owner-manager but two separate people.” she explains picking up her leather jacket and putting it on.

“won’t you be cold in just that dear?”

“the walk will keep me warm.” She says.

“are we walking?” says mabel.

“you’re going to walk in those shoes?” says sherlock.

She stops and turns. “in these shoes?” she says.

“obviously.” he says. she looks at him a moment. “I could race you there in these shoes. And win.”

He raises and eyebrow at her.

“I’d like to see that.”

“mm. unfortunately you don’t know where we’re going.” She says. “So it’d be easy to ensure if I just direct you to the wrong restaurant.”

“maybe on the way back.” He says.

She grins, but shakes her head. “another time. I won’t have you skipping food since ‘digesting slows you down.”” she says making airquotes. “off we go.”

* * *

 

They walk up to what appears to what appears to be an office building.

“sorry. I thought we were doing brunch. Are we doing something else first?”

Cal smiles. “nope.”

She waves a card at a reader and the door unlocks. Cal opens the door and they walk out onto a tile floor with long carpet runners, leading to a large round information desk. Julie steps in and they follow her to the desk.

“Good morning.” she says to the security guard. “elevator three please.”

He hits a button and an elevator lights up, so she leads them into the elevator with glass walls, that slide against concrete tube walls. She hits the one button on the wall and they move upwards.

“a restaurant in an office—” he stops when the concrete gives way to a large kitchen, then sliding up to reveal a large bowl of a room with swooping staircases up and down. marble floors with expensive rugs, art, bartops, open spaces and close to the elevator an enormous fountain. There are two levels, one open in the center to reveal the large bottom of the bowl. There are enormous swaths of fabric across the ceiling, leaving space around hanging chandeliers. Some swaths of curtain hang from the ceiling as well. Art is installed along the walls, and some curtains have been pulled back to reveal large views of the city.

She walks to the check in and the man behind the desk looks shocked and then excited. “mademoiselle!” she says.

“hello. I have a reservation for myself and my new friends. It’s for six, but we have an extra in our party. I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”

“we thought you weren’t really coming.” Says the man.

“that’s not what I asked.” she responds.

“I… no it’s not a problem! Of course not. A moment, please while we, uh…”

“the bowl is fine. I worry Cal will try throwing bread over the railing otherwise.”

The maître de looks scandalized.

“are you alright?” she says.

“Julianna!” calls a french voice.

She turns. “Ailan.” She says turning.

“are you torturing my new maître de.”

“not this time, no. I’ve brought…”

“mister holmes.” Says the man. “it’s good to see you again, although I’m surprised you brought family.”

“we’re all together.”

“we thought you weren’t coming.”

“yes he said. Why would you think that.”

“Antoine said—”

“ah of course. Yes I’m here earlier then he might have expected. Problem?”

“bien sur que non. Sept?”

“oui.” She says. “in the bowl.” She says pointing to Cal who wiggles his eyebrows.

“bien sur. This way, please.” says the man called Ailan.

They walk down the steps into the large bottom half, which has more windows, seating them at a large round table with white table clothes and fine china.

“is this on the account then?” says Ailan.

“correct.” She says.

“what is this place?” says mabel.

“it’s an exclusive establishment that caters to the powerful.”

“or just the very wealthy.” She says taking her jacket off and tossing it carelessly over the arm of her chair, sitting with ease, her legs crossed in front of her.

“I wasn’t aware you were the daughter of Antoine and Celine Rosamunde.”

She winces. “oh no. you misunderstand mycroft.”

“do i?” he says.

She looks at him for a moment as someone comes over dropping coffee mugs.

  “bourbon… no actually, I think Ethioian Heirloom strain for myself I think. And I think start at least with Gesha for you.” she says looking at sherlock, who makes a surprised face but nods. “Jember for cal.” She says indicating him. “Mycroft?”

“catimor.”

“mm.” she says with something like surprise. “and do you think Colombia or Typica for the rest? I’m leaning towards the latter.”

“agreed.” says mycroft.

“oui?” she says to the server.

“yes mademoiselle.” Says the server, a second passing menus out.

“merci.” She says to the other. “attendez.” She says the server, who startles. She smiles softly. “come back in four minutes to do your speil.”

“yes mademoiselle.” He says.

“what was that?” says john.

“servers?” she says.

“no gesha, typica—”

“varieties of coffee.” says sherlock. she smiles at him again.

“oh.” says john.

“snob.” Says her brother, jokingly.

“heathen.” She shoots back, in equal form.

“I don’t think I do misunderstand miss Rosamunde.”

She grimaces. “good god mycroft. It’s at least some variation of my first name for every person at this table, and it isn’t miss. Mizz Dawson.” She says.

“well that may be your preference, but it isn’t your name.”

She leans back.

“after all that, your marriage isn’t actually legal, since you didn’t get married under your legal name. Madamoiselle Baptise Rosamunde”

She smiles, but shakes her head. “no.”

“no?” he says.

“I’ll explain though, after you explain who you seem to think I am.”

He sighs.

“Antoine Baptiste and Ceceila Rosamunde married thirty years ago, capitalizing on their considerable wealth to create some of the most high end establishments that cater to very high government officials, wealthy aristocratic families, etc etc from all over the world. Places like this which aim to keep out the common masses and specialize in status and discretion. After several years they had a daughter.”

“had?” she says. “past tense?”

He scoffs. “had as in gave birth to—”  
“no.” she says.

“no?”

“no. gained. Acquired.” She says.

“adopted.” Says her brother. “obviously.”

“mmm.” she says. “more like bought.” She says. “it’s amazing the things money can buy.” She says, leaning back again. “A swiss education, a french birth certificate, an eight year old ‘protégé.” She says with air quotes, and dramatic accent. “with an American accent and an unknown country of origin.” She leans forward “and on that french birth certificate, or rather on the final french birth certificate the name listed was Julianna Rosamunde-Dawson. Something about the child making very clear that Dawson, the last name of her favorite and most long standing foster father, was not her legal last name.” she looks at him for a moment enjoying his surprise. “it was one of the terms negotiated at purchase.” She says sitting back again and recrossing.

Mycroft looks at her in surprise, and she nods. “so you are wrong Mycroft. My marriage is legal. My name is Julianna Rosamunde- hyphen – Dawson. I never go by both, so it’s either mademoiselle Rosamunde, or Mizz Dawson. and never miss.”

Sherlock looks at her in amazement. “foster father?” he says.

She nods. “mm. although he’s legally adopted me. Antoine wasn’t very pleased when, after getting a call from the _very_ expensive swiss school specializing in the music and arts, that his purchase had disappeared in the middle of a blizzard, only to find she’d taken the opportunity to make her way back to America, with no intention of returning. So when his investment seemed it would not meet his hopes and expectations, he made a point of saying it was a mistake to believe such a bad egg could ever be related to him, even through adoption, and that Jameson Dawson could ‘have me’ … like a broken down car on the side of the road, cardboard sign ‘for sale’ in the rear window. Oh no.” she says looking at mabel who looks shocked. “it’s more than fine.”

“why didn’t Jameson adopt you before?” says sherlock.

“because I wasn’t eligible for adoption in the united states as a child.” She says.

He looks at her curiously. “but you were eligible for foster care?”

“the answer is already there.” she says.

He tilts his head.

“have you got it mycroft?”

“unknown country of origin?”

“precisely.” She says. “how might that occur?”

“illegal immigration.” Says mycroft.

“I wish.” She says. “like a truck with a for sale sign.” She says.

All of the faces except cal’s show surprise.

“human trafficking.” Says sherlock.

“when the rosamunde’s bought me, it wasn’t the first time I had been sold. Not the second time either.” she says. “before the rosamundes negotiated my purchased, I was in foster care. before I was in foster care, I was found among a trafficking ring. Before I was found their I was returned there by a wealthy American family dissatisfied by there purchase, traded for a younger one. before that I was sold to the American family, obviously, by the trafficking ring.”

“When Jameson Dawson began the adoption process, it was discovered that before I was sold by the trafficking ring to the American family, I was sold to that trafficking ring by a different trafficking ring operating in Europe. And before that, it was discovered that the particular trafficking ring which sold me to the American trafficking one had a hearty mix of children gained through one of three avenues. One, the children were sold to them by often extremely destitute and desperate women, who believed their children should go to a better home but also believed they might as well profit. Two, the mothers were tricked into believing they were negotiating good homes for their children, through a legitimate adoption service. Three, the children were kidnapped or forcibly taken. From women, often times involved in sex work, without their consent. Prostitutes with the worst pimps, sex slaves, etc. Some of these women, and men too, were forced into working for organized crime via the appearance of holding their children hostage. Among them, some of these people had come forward, begging for help in finding their lost children. And off I was shipped, to come to british, and then french foster care while the hunt for my parentage was on, before it went cold.”

“but you said the rosamundes _bought_ you.”

She nods. “it doesn’t seem odd to you that I had so much say, so much personal say according to my own preferances?”

“you sold yourself.” Says sherlock.

She winces. “I negotiated the purchase of parental rights to me. They may have bought me, but _i_ was never for sale.”

“how?” says mycroft.

“how what?”

“how did you negotiate the purchase at eight years old?” asks mycroft.

She smiles at him. “I’m clever.” She nods as the server appears with coffees, the other server with her.

“the typicas might prefer mimosas instead.” She says.

“I had thought so.” says the female server. “he’s behind with ones for everyone should they want to switch it up.”

She smiles. “oh I like you.” she says. “and it has been four minutes.”

The server nods at the other as he sets mimosas down, the other moving to check with them on preference or not. the male server begins to speak, listing options, starting with “today’s selection includes,” he lists several things before ending, “and of course the kitchen invites requests, rarely unable to accommodate.”

“oh my goodness.” Says mabel.

“if you find an option that stumps them you get a very expensive prize.” She says. “but don’t order something you actually won’t eat, because I have yet to see anyone stump them and just about died laughing when cal had to eat ().”

“it wasn’t bad either though, when you get over what it is.”

“something to check off the bucket list.”

“I don’t think anyone has eat the ovaries of a camel on their bucket list.”

“thoughts?” she says.

Mycroft orders and they go about the table, with her ending it. “and trade mine out for just orange juice please. I’m not drinking.”

“yes mademoiselle.” Says the female server.

“you won’t forget?”

“wouldn’t dream of it.” she says.

She grins. “mm.” she nods, and the server leaves.

“I guess it’s good you already told us you aren’t pregnant.”

“I mean, I agree but… oh the not drinking.” She says. “no, I’m just not.”

“since when?” says sherlock.

“shit.” She says suddenly.

“what?” says cal.

“I forgot to tell him.”

“tell me what?” says sherlock.

“to shove it” she says. “making me sound like some kind of drunk—since I felt like I’d prefer caffeine. Dickhead.” She says.

Several of them laugh.

He narrows his eyes at her, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

“mademoiselle?” says the male server. She turns.

“your uncle is asking about you.”

She looks confused. “which?”

“uh…”

She looks at him, before sighing. “what is he asking?”

“he said to tell you he was asking about you.”

She snorts and stands up. “apparently I’ll be right back.”

She sees the server and steals the juice. “merci.” She says walking past where a man greets her.

“uncle!” she says very loudly, and he shushes her.

“what?” she says.

He says something to her in french, feet away from them, in a loud whisper.

“what?” she says again. “I’m sorry, what are you saying?”

“you know well what I’m saying.” He says in a thick french accent.

She shrugs. “you were asking after me?”

He speaks.

“what?”

He groans, and says something to her, and sherlock laughs a bit.

“oh do you know what he’s saying? Translate.” Says cal.

“he’s lecturing her about bringing commoners into the place. something about how her father will make her regret it.”

“what?” she says again.

“julianna Rosamunde.”

“oui?” she says.

“JACK!” calls a voice and she turns in surprise. her expression turns happy, and her uncle sighs.

She moves and kisses each cheek of a very tall french man of a similar age to herself.

“he looks familiar.” says cal, narrowing his eyes. “who is that? do you know?” he asks.

“who are you asking?” says sherlock.

“all of you.” he says. “is he famous? I think he’s famous.”

She speaks in french, in a remarkably fast and proficient pace.

_What are you doing at this of all places you silly man? How long are you in England for? Oh you have to come out with us, I’m with several people we both know._

_What am I doing in England? What are YOU doing in England? Where HAVE you been? Last I saw you you were rigging snow to fall through the ceiling for the greatest finally that stage has ever seen. And last I heard you disgraced the name of opera and performers._

_Ha! Disgrace my ass. The Belle was a disgrace to the name of opera and my very name should have told them to beware. Je suis batard, Je suis salaud._

_Joli salaud!_ He says hugging her, and she makes a surprised surprised noise. _And I notice you say are not were. is there going to be a come back? Wait, who are you hear with? I don’t recognize any of those people._

_No not them. But the Mocrieff siblings and of course the crux and bane—_

_Smith? No, really?_

_Oh now you can speak french._ Says her uncle.

“what?” she says. “are you talking to me?”

Sherlock laughs again.

_Who are these people with you? is that the detective person who was in the newspapers for not really being dead or something?_

_Oui. His partner doesn’t live at the famous dwelling anymore, so there’s space for a flatmate._

_No. yes?_

_Why not? I’m in the process of moving in now actually. so uncle you can stop being grateful I’ll only be interfering with your fragile ecosystem because I’m more then happy to interfere as much as I like for as long as I’m here and my stay in England is currently planned to be largely indefinite. Ce Va?”_

He looks furious and she turns back. _So yes, along with his family, and his partner, and my brother, who is also my partner. Here though let me give you some contact details.”_ she says plucking a pen directly from her uncle’s pocket and pulling the sleeve of her friend up, flipping it over. _It’s a bit of a full bill, but I’m sure we can make time. in the interim you have to visit a friend of mine. This is the address, and I’ll tell them to be on the lookout, oui?_  
  


_Oui! Merci, and audieu._

_Merci and aduei._ She says tossing her uncle his pen without looking, which he lunges to catch. “you look silly uncle.” she says sipping the glass. “and you’re being very rude, coming in and disturbing what is supposed to be an excellent dining experience.”

“I’m being—” he says.

“very rude yes. off you go.”

She sits back down and he looks at the table, pausing when his eyes glance to mycroft. mycroft nods once dismissing him.

She grins.

“who was that?” says cal.

“antoine’s brother?” she says.

“no I know who THAT was, I meant the other one.”

“oh. schoolmate.”

“oh, duh.” He says. “I should have known when you mentioned smith and montcrieff.”

“yes you really should have.”

“but you talk so fast!”

“So I can get to stop speaking it as quickly as possible.” She says.

“is this the case you brought me?” says sherlock.

She looks at him. “one track mind. And how do you mean?”

“obvious.” Says sherlock.

“i absolutely am sure that what is obvious, since I’ve already said it, that I will not answer any questions about the case I’ve brought you until we take care of all we have to take care of today. That’s where your focus should be, and it won’t be if we talk about any potential case, as everyone knows.”

He makes an exhasperated, “ugh.” Rolling his eyes.

“Joli Salaud?” says mycroft.

“yes?” she says.

“the opera singer.” He says. “who single handedly ruined the Belle theater by leaving mid performance of…” he pauses. “oh my god.” he says.

“romantic, isn’t it?” she says.

“what?” says cal.

John looks at sherlock. “something she’d rather be doing?” says john.

“oh well put.” She says.

“you ran off together that night.” says mycroft.

“We even wore what we left in, which in my case was one hell of a costume. You know the one.” she says to call. “the one no one is allowed to use, in the false bottom.”

“I don’t under… what?”

Sherlock looks at her. “he’s not very quick.”

“dickhead.” She says. “I will kick you. Twelve night performance at he Belle Theater, just north of London city limits, I played viola in a production of twelfth night, but left in the middle of the second act, to elope with sherlock in a stolen dress.”

“and with a massive amount of stolen cash.”

She waves it away. “oh please. the cash was given to their rightful owners, and it was an afterthought anyway. I was only going to take my wages, but I figured while I was there I’d save others the hassle.”

Sherlock smiles.

“oh you cock.” Says john.

“you don’t have the –”

“oh I do actually.” says mabel. “but it’s back at the flat.”

“what is?” says john.

“wedding pictures.” She says.

“I brought the lockbox too.” she says.

“oh thank you.” she says. “I’ll have to stop by and grab my copy of the marriage license. Thank you for hanging onto that for me.”

“of course love.”

* * *

 

They walk to the elevator, but cal stops her. “someone we know.” he says and she turns. “mm.” she says. “you all can—” she stops hearing someone call, “calico jack and madam pinkerton. What a wonderful surprise.”

“oh to me as well, and not one I arranged I’m afraid.” Says the woman. “teddy, hello. I see you found our pretty thing. I trust you enjoyed your time.”

John and Sherlock look at each other.

He nods. “lovely, truly. Your recommendation served well. It really is a happy accident to see Jack here?” he says looking at Julie. “I’m amazed. You look even more irristable with clothing on.”

She laughs, a hand in her pocket. “you make it sound like I’m some kind of nudist, and I’m shocked you’d dare to misrepresent me.” She bows at the waist, and appears almost to tip a hat, a hand out, palm up before raising and allowing him to take it and kiss her hand. “teddy. it’s been six months at least since you saw me.”

“if only you would see me, I’m sure—”

“I’m sure I will not take a male client.” She says.

“have you two met?” says madam pinkerton gesturing to irene.

“I’m afraid we haven’t had the pleasure.” Says irene.

“I think you two would get on very well.”

Julie takes a step back taking her in. “oh I see.” she says.

“this is the Woman.” says madam pinkerton. Irene puts her hand out. “irene. Addler.” She says. Julie doesn’t even remotely react to the name, irene surprised not to see it.

“no wonder ted thinks we’d get along with a monikor like that. I’ve been rumored to be the gentleman, something every Woman needs.” She takes her hand and lifts it up close to her face as if to kiss it, before spitting on her shoes.

Irene is shocked taking a step back.

“if you leave your mouth open like that, someone might take it as an invitation.”

Irene slaps her, but she swiftly knocks it back and both hands taking her coat and pulling it down her arms half way in one swift moment, before taking a thumb and smearing her lipstick.

“what in the world would make you think I would trade annie for this?” she says to teddy. “I’m out of your league.” She says to her.  She presses her hand to teddy’s chest. “I’m shocked you had any fun at all. She’s not just out of my league, because that’s obvious because she’d see you.” she says smearing the lipstick on his shirt, repeatedly. “you would dare to insult me by suggesting she’d be in my league when she’s beneath your own.”

“you obviously have no idea what you’ve done.”

She looks at her and laughs. “it’s not your fault you haven’t got enough on top.” She says.

“wha..” she says, her cheeks puffing out as she resists looking down.

“not that top.” She says, before smearing the last bit of lipstick on her forehead. “that one.“

“are you saying I’m…”

“stupid? The fact you have to ask that. of course I think your stupid. If I was going to hire a prostitute, it wouldn’t be one who doesn’t actually do the work. and you’re a dominatrix who doesn’t recognize dominance. Why would I pay for a dominatrix who is weaker and less dominant then myself, which is so obviously clear, considering how easily I managed to dominate you.” she Doesn’t really recommend you. Of course, I’m out of your league.” Cal laughs.

“you bitch.” She says.

“no, woman. I’m bastard jack.” She says. “you won’t forget me, but I’ll forget you as soon as the elevator hits the ground floor.” She kicks the elevator.  She holds the elevator door as the party enters the elevator.  Irene looks searchingly at sherlock. “pinkerton.” She says and the woman turns. “yes, jack.” Julie gets into the elevator. “suspend ted, and inform that she’s been rebuked and is officially under review.” She says to madam pinkerton. Irene’s eyes snap to her.

“yes boss.” Says pinkerton. Irene’s eyes turn to her in shock before looking back at Julie.

“afternoon.” She says smiling as the door closes.

“are you involved with—” starts mycroft

“you will recall that my uncle was angry I brought in what he considered to common clientele to an establishment that caters to the super powerful and wealthy, compromising it’s reputation for exclusivity and discretion.” She says. “and I think that’s hilarious because then common whores think they have status because they get in to someplace only people with status can normally get into. Doms are particularly susceptible for getting big for their breeches.” The elevator opens and she turns walking backwards “don’t mistake me. I have the utmost respect for sex workers. I like them so much more than their clients.”

“like theodore Johnson?” says mycroft.

She stops and looks at him. “that was theodore Johnson. The theodore johnson?” she says seeming concerned. “oh god what have I done! Oh no I –thhmmmppp.” She blows a raspberry, before rolling her eyes. “People crack me up.”

“did I say something particularly funny?”

“yes.” she says. “mycroft, you crack me up. I’m not a prostitute, and I’m not insulted that he thinks I might be. Rarity is seen as the most intoxicating, valuable thing a person can achieve, and equate it to being ‘special.’” She says with air quotes. “People addicted to status are easy to exploit, because they play the “I have the rarest thing of all” game. Anything they can’t have they want, because they believe everything has a price, and the higher the price the more special the prize. The most powerful woman in England isn’t the queen. She’s an almost sixty year old woman, who runs the highest status prostitutes, by making them so, so rarely available. There are people in that room who would give up their first born child for a chance to kiss the foot of any one felle de jolie she retains purely because it would elevate their perceived status, and would believe a kiss alone from them was better than any experience they’d ever have purely because the suggestion is that the one minute is equal to hours a week, every week, for years with others. And it’s suggested by this only because that’s how much it _costs.”_ She says. “and how hard it is to even be allowed to pay it. so the question is.” she says stepping to him. “are they even special? because it sounds to me like these women are special because they played the system. _and_ it sounds like they aren’t really for sale.” she says. “I mean are you really the buyer when anything you have is suddenly open to be traded? Because that doesn’t sound like being a buyer, it sounds like being for sale. So no I’m not a prostitute, and no I’m not insulted he thinks I might be, because suddenly I have the ability to get him to do what I want, because he can’t find my price. And staining his shirt buys him status because the very good friend of the most powerful woman in England _touched_ him. Suspending him for suggesting equal status with some random person, stating he’s out of that league, puts him in a new one. suspending isn’t even a thing, and I’m not really pinkerton’s boss. Or her bosses boss. Or her boss’s boss’s boss. I’m just friends with her. I have an open invitation to both her home and office, and am often seen at both. because she thinks I’m hilarious and is determined to beat me at scrabble… scandalous.” She says, punctuating the point by zipping up her leather jacket, before starting to walk.

 “and I can assume spitting on her shoes also lowered miss addler’s status.”

“the girl?” she says, turning toward the door.

“the woman.”

She scoffs. “she’s lazy and cheap, and I object to equating women with either.”

“so it has nothing to do with—” john gestures for him to stop, waving his arms wildly, to get smacked by sherlock who gives them both a wide eyed look. She stops.

Cal looks at the exchange offended. “if the rest of that sentence was ‘it has nothing to do with sherlock… with her and sherlock… I will—”

She laughs. “sherlock?!” she says. “oh that’s a laugh to even—” she stops and looks at him.

“we should probably…” says sherlock.

She steps back a little and laughs. “really?!” she says. “I mean yes you should probably have run it by me before but—”

“what? no it wasn’t---”  
his phone moans. _Ahhh._

she raises her eyebrows high before bending over laughing. She stands only to bend over again. “oh that is hysterical.” She says. she takes deliberate breaths trying to slow the laughter, wiping her eyes. “sorry.” she says. “oh I’m sorry Sherlock. I’m so sorry.” she says starting to laugh again.

he looks at her massively confused.

“sorry what?”

She shakes her head.

“do me a favor love.” she says. “if she asks who I am. What I am to you. literally anything about me, say this. ‘don’t ask stupid questions.’”

“and when she asks why it’s stupid?”

“what did I just say?” she says.

He scoffs.

“no that’s the response.”

“oh.” he says. “…why?”

“because it’s the best response.” She says. “do I have to reassure you right now, because we both have people to go talk to, and I can guarantee you that at least of on my conversations will go a lot worse then whatever the end of ‘no no it was just—’ was.” she says. “we good?”

He shakes his head. “I suppose so.” he says.

“good. will you give me status updates on how far along you are down your list of close family and friends you have to tell? I have the first one on one, and then probably should wait for the other one on one since it will inevitably lead to the remaining three boys, and may spread out farther, so let me know when you’ve run through those you need—shit.” She says. “do I need to be there when you talk to mrs hudson? No. John would be good though, and I assume she’s the last on today’s list at least.”

He nods. “you assume correctly. Although after molly every on mine can be done at once, but john will probably have rosie by then.”

“who?” she says.

“my daughter?” he says.

“oh. wait whose watching—”

“molly and mrs hudson.” Says sherlock.

“ohhh.” She says. “okay. she’s…”

“almost three.”

“is she on the list?”

“should she be?” he says.

“eh?” she says. “three would likely just find it confusing. I’d play the question answer game.”

“how do you mean?” says sherlock.

“if she asks questions, you answer simply, but honestly, but not someone on today’s list. The one’s who will likely see us together and often, because they are involved in a personal way. I’ll update you on where I am in my list. Will you do the same?”

He nods.


	4. Explanations to Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock explains to Molly.  
> Julie explains to Annie, and to her brother Julian.
> 
> Sherlock's explanations go well.  
> Julie's explanations do not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an un-proofed ROUGH draft, to be edited for spelling, grammar etc.

## Chapter four: Explanations to Friends.

Sherlock and John arrive at John’s house.

“afternoon.” The ladies greet the boys.

“Daddy!” calls rosie. “I missed you.”

“I missed you!” he says picking his daughter up.

“Uncle Sherlock, are you staying?”

“not today rosie.” he says. “but soon.”

“you always say that.”

“I do don’t I?” he says. “but I actually need to walk molly home.” He says.

“what?” she says.

He looks at her, and nods.

“are you okay? did something happen?”

“I’m well.” He says. “but we should go, unless there’s something you have to do.”

“well, I had plans to meet someone tonight, but—”

“it isn’t tonight yet.” He says.

“right.” She says. “okay. uh… well, okay. I guess it’s time for me to go rosie.”

“bye aunt molly!”

They walk out the front door.

“is everything alright?” asks mrs hudson.

“sherlock has… some news. But it’s something he’ll have to tell you himself.” he says softly back.

“oh dear. I hope it isn’t what I think it is.”

“no, it’s not that. in fact, I seriously doubt you would guess it, to be honest.”

“oh. good news?”

“yes, I think so. or… well… yes. yes I think it is. his parents thought it was anyway. But he’s really supposed to tell people himself.”

“well alright.”

* * *

 

Outside sherlock waits for molly before falling into step.

“we aren’t really going o my place, are we?”

“we are.” he says flagging a cab. “but walking was just an expression.”

The cab ride is silent. He texts

SENT: _starting the first._

RECEIVED: _about to be in the same. Wish you luck._

He smiles briefly before putting it away and opening the cab door, paying before following her up.

“so, why did you take a cab with me here.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“In…my house?”

“yes.” he says. “if we could…” he says indicating.

“okay.” she says confused, but opening the door.

She shuts it behind him.

“so what’s going on?”

“I have some news. We should… probably sit?” he says.

“oh sherlock. did you—”

“can we sit?”

“yeah. okay yeah.” she says, walking to the kitchen and sitting. “should I make tea or something?”

Sherlock sits down, a bit tensely looking at molly.

“so, what’s going on?” she says.

“I think maybe tea first.” He says standing up. “it’s over—” he says walking into the actual kitchen.

“it’s on the stove, but sherlock, you’re acting really…”

“what?”

“odd.”

“mmm.” he says. he puts the kettle on.

“okay sherlock, will you just spit it out already?” she says.

He comes back over and sits down at the table. “molly.” He says.

“sherlock.” she responds.

“we’ve been friends for a long time.” he says. “nine years.” He says.

She looks at him.

“i… realize I haven’t exactly been the kindest to you.” he stills. He pauses for a moment letting out a soft “oh.”

She furrows her brow.

“i haven’t exactly been the kindest.” He says. “or the most sensitive. I’m sorry for that.” he says.

“it’s okay sherlock.”

“I have amends to make to you.”

“ame—oh. are you—”

“I’m not at that step yet. I’m not even sure if I’m doing steps. But that’s actually not why I’m telling you that.”

“what are you telling me?”

“will you just let me—”

“sorry. yes. okay.”

He clears his throat. “molly, when we first met, I didn’t anticipate we would be friends. And I knew you felt a, draw, to me.”

She stills.

“I exploited that. but we’re friends now. you’ve done a lot for me. more than I’ve done for you.”

“it’s okay.” she says.

“I have very few friends, and that is very well likely to be true because others do for me what I do not do for them. I am single minded. Very single minded.” He says.

“i value you molly. I don’t know that I’ve said that, and I’m sure I haven’t done an adequate job of expressing that. i have hurt you many times, with carelessness. I know I have. And I know what I have to say might hurt you as well, but I ask you listen to all of it.”

She looks at him concerned. “I don’t know if I want you to tell me this.”

“you want it to come from me.” he says. the kettle clicks.

He moves to make tea and brings her a cup.

“aren’t you going to have one?” she says.

“right.” He says and makes one for himself before sitting.

He takes a sip and breath and then looks up. he takes a piece of paper out from his jacket and sets it down touching it.

“this isn’t… my brother didn’t even know about this until this morning.” he says. “and john found out because he apparently spent the night on the couch and was there in the morning when the news was broken to him. it was all very dramatic. I don’t really want that to be the case with this, but it’s a dramatic thing to say, or so it seems to be taken anyway.”

She furrows her brow again.

“are you gay?” she says. “because—”

He says. “I’m married.”

“you’re…”

“married. I have been for quite some time.” he says.

“what? to who?!”

He puts a hand on the paper.

“what is that?”

“it’s the marriage license. I want you to understand though molly that I’ve been married for a long time. I was already married when we first met.”

“whuh?” she says. “is this a joke?”

“no. it’s not.” He says. “molly, I want you to understand what I’m trying to say though… I had been married for almost two years when we very first met. and I am single minded, so I was… I didn’t really factor in your feelings because mine were already directed toward someone. I didn’t consider because there couldn’t be something to consider… for me. do you see?” he says.

She leans back.

“my parents knew. And her… well I guess her previously foster, now adoptive father. they were the only people either of us had told, until today.”

“why would you—”

“we didn’t tell people out of concern for her safety. Or, my concern. our marriage hasn’t been traditional. Obviously. we didn’t live together. she travels all over the world. And my work.. I hope for the kind of mastermind who would be a threat, but not for that threat to actually befall harm to anyone I care about. If a criminal mastermind. If a Moriarity had known of her existence, or mangussen, or even eurus…” he pauses. “oh. i guess I have to tell her about eurus.” He says pausing. “it’s one thing to not care about receiving death threats myself. it’s entirely different to imagine them being directed at Julie.”

“julie…” she says understanding. “you’re married to that girl Julie?”

“I am.” He says.

“and you never told anyone because…”

“I had concerns about anyone letting it slip. I only told my parents at her instistence. It wasn’t about trust. I would have… I do trust you. but with the distance, she’d be incredibly vulnerable. If it were a secret, it had to be well kept.”

“then why are you telling me now?”

“I thought I could protect mary, but I couldn’t.” he says. “I can’t protect her. one day she’ll die. It’s one thing to know I can live without her. it’s another thing to know I don’t even stand a chance to be there to say goodbye though, when that day comes. And keeping it a secret… she did it because I wanted it. So I told her I didn’t want it anymore. I wanted her to be whoever she wants and live whatever life she wants, but that I hope she might want to not just be married to me, but live with me too.”

“and here she is.” says molly.

“well… she said she would except she respects herself enough to not make a home in a drugden.”

She coughs in surprise. “what?”

He nods. “she said she’d consider it if I was clean for a year, but that I’d have to actually do it because I wanted to, not to get her to move in. I asked if it was alright if doing it for both reasons would be alright. She said… ‘eh?’”

Molly laughs a bit.

He smiles. “and she said, ‘you make your choices for you. I’d like it if you did, because I am serious. I’m not moving just to babysit your habit. I’m not flexible on it, because that’s kind of a dealbreaker for me. If I’ll have a homestead it won’t be a drug den. Period. But I might move in and we end up deciding we can’t stand each other and we go back to just visiting. If you got sober for me and moved back out because we aren’t compatible roommates, i don’t believe for a second that you’d return right back to those habits, and it’d be a bigger problem. I’m not the boss of you, but I sure as hell am not going to enable you to die a death that’s beneath you, so if you get clean, do it for you, so that neither of us have to regret you trying to.”

Molly blinks. “that’s… wow. But you haven’t been clean a year.”

“I know.” he says. “she had a way of putting it though that surprised me. She said ‘you’ve been working on it for sixteen months, with eight months of uninterrupted success” and suggested we ‘split the difference.’ And she said that I’ve managed after the slips I’ve had, to get back on the wagon without hesitation, so she’s here to be a hand back up to the wagon. That she doesn’t give me permission to slip, but she’ll be a hand if I do. If a slip turns into a problem, she’ll leave. But only for as long as it’s a problem, because she’s my wife, and that’s death till you part, for better or worse. She’s my friend, and now she’s my roommate too, but she’s not my sponsor. She won’t be.”

He smiles gently before taking a sip of his tea.

“well… that’s. that’s beautiful actually.”

“she has a way.” he says. “so that’s why. Well, and apparently she’s brought a case for me to look at, and I’m pretty sure I know what it is, but she won’t tell me anything about it or answer any questions until we’ve told those we’re close to. It’s not something we’re making a public announcement about. She’s planning some kind of deliberate media frenzy about the whole thing.” he says. “so that’s something to not look forward to.”

She laughs a bit.

“I’m telling mrs hudson. And Lestrade. And john and mycorft know. and my parents. those are the only ones I’d like to know. will you—”

“of course.” she says.

* * *

 

“annie.” Says julie walking up.

Annie looks up from where she stands, at the counter of a motel room, reading a book, one foot moving from across the front of an ankle, to behind her on her toes.

“where have you—holy cow.” She says.

“you think?” says julie.

“oh fuck you, you know you look like…”

“like silence?”

“shut up. I hate you.”

“so abusive.” Says julie.

“where were you?” she says.

“I’ll tell you, but first, are the boys next door?”

“I am sure I don’t know.” she says.

she bangs on the wall. “oi. Whose in there?”

she hears a groan.

“who?!”

“go away.” she hears a voice.

“is julian okay?”

“I’m not his keeper.” She says.

She scoffs, and goes next door, opening it.

“I said go away.” says julian under the covers.

“what’s wrong with you?”

He turns. “what…” he trails off. “woah.”

“I reiterate, what’s wrong with you?”

“oh you know, got drunk after the show, met some random girl, had sex for a while, came here, begged god to stop insisting I put my stomach in the toilet because I thought it was very good where it was, thank you very much.”

“are you okay?” she says.

“ugh.” He  says. “yeah I’m alright.”

“you sure.”

“who cares, tomorrow Monday, aka our weekend.”

“I care. listen, I’ll be in a bit. I have some stuff to talk to you about.”

“can you do it now so I can go back to sleep.”

“I could. But I won’t. I have to talk to annie first. It’s personal.” She says.

“personal? You?” he says.

“yup. Family related. There’s a reason you won’t be seeing cal, possibly at all today.”

He sits up and winces.

“no no. I have to talk to annie first. It affects her more. But I’m dropping the do not disturb on the door, and you should lock the security lock.” She says texting the boys.

SENT: _stay clear of room. Will inform when all clear._

She gets complainst but walks back in. she turns on the tv, on low.

“annie.” She says.

“jack.”

She groans, but shakes her head. “sit down.”

“bossy much?”

“we have to talk about our arrangement, so please just sit and put the sass on hold because I’m going to be real, and probably really vulnerable with you, and you know how tense that makes me.”

She looks at her seriously. “wait. is something. What?”

“sit.” She says.

She sits. Julie takes her hands. “I keep your confidence. Your secrets. You never have to worry about that, because I keep my promises. You know this right?”

“well, yea although a start of a conversation like that—”

“is because I need to know you will do the same for me, because I have a secret I’ve been keeping and I need to tell you.”

“okay.”

“promise.”

“I promise.”

“you promise.”

“yes I promise.”

“you really promise?”

“for fucks sake I said I promise.”

“good. three times you promised, so remember three times at least before considering letting on even a little.”

“what is it.”

“we can’t keep this relationship farce up.”

“what?”

“and I need you to tell sherlock about it. about it being a farce. About what we really are.”

“what? why?” she says. “wait, sherlock the fan hat detective? Why do I need to tell--?”

“because I can’t tell him because I promised I would keep your confidence, but he’s my husband and he needs to know the truth.”

“he’s… WHAT?” she  says.

“shut up. julian.” She says.

“you’ve got to be--”

She pulls out her own marriage license and shows it to her.

“I promised him I wouldn’t tell because he was worried about my safety, considering the kind of people he pisses off. but I’m moving in with him. have technically. We’ve told family, except the French of course. they’ll know last. I don’t think he’s going to be jealous because he’s fine with me seeing women, but I doubt he is fine with me SEEING someone. Anyone else. In a truly romantic and potentially long term way.”

“you’re biggest fan.”

“he better be, since he married me. the plan is to have friends and family know, and adjust to living together leaving the nature of our relationship a deliberate mystery for the media and the like, until it inevitably and truly breaks, and I trust that break won’t come from you. I am right to trust that, yes?”

“i… yeah but why—”

“because it’s important to tell friends and family first. Because it will make an enormous profit, possibly for both of us. because we might not want to announce we’re already married and announce an engagement instead. Because we aren’t ready for it yet… we want the time and I suspect we need it.”

“okay jesus I get it. but how have you even kept it—”

She points the top of the license. “the only way to get knowledge of it is with a court order. Like having a record sealed.”

“slow down.” she says. “so, you’re married.”

“do we have to go THAT—”

“like you love each other are married?”

“yes.” she says. “like we love only each other in that way, and made a life long commitment to each other. Dad knew, and his parents, and that’s it.”

“how have you even managed to be married for…”

“eleven going on twelve years.”  
“Christ. Yeah.” she says. “I mean, how do you even…” she trails off. “well… I mean how do you see each other?”

“I say I’m seeing family. sometimes that’s seeing the in-laws. Often it’s that actually, so it’s not suspicious when he pops off somewhere, but not always of course. up until recently he wouldn’t contact me through his direct line, that’s how cautious we were. Dad makes sure to pay both phone lines for me every month, and one of them is attached to his old phone.”

“how very precautious.” She says.

“well if you’re going to keep secrets, you should do it carefully. That’s why you have to talk to him about it. Because I can’t tell him it’s not what it looks like without him asking what it is then, and I can’t tell him it’s a farce without him being able to read it’s more.”

She rolls her eyes.

“when we met he knew so much about my history in an instant. He knew I played the viola and the violin, knew I should be wearing my glasses but wasn’t, knew I’d been in a fight three days ago that had landed me with bruised ribs, bruises on my arms, very bruised knuckles, and a sore foot, on the bottom which mean I had a high degree of flexibility. He knew that I liked men and enjoyed their company but innately distrusted them too because I’d assume a stance where me feet were steadily planted, capable of defending myself. He knew I’d seen a woman the night before, after a night of excstacy and alcohol, had read in bed before getting up, that I was itching for coffee, had a pack of cigarette in my coat, a knife in my shoe, and at least fifteen folded pound notes in the other, but that I also had a heavy black cash card, that I hoped was well hidden. That’s what caught his attention. He wanted to know who’d I stolen the card off of. I hadn’t spoken. When I spoke he realized I was a singer, and not a sing in the shower singer but a stage one with training, and guessed it was quite possibly opera, because I automatically breathed from my low in my daighram or deep in my stomach. He knew I spoke in an American accent, but that I worked to maintain it and that I spent a lot of time around French people because of the rounding of my lips. He knew that the American accent showed I spent a lot of time in the south. He looks closer and realized I would swing swords, and asked me why I would chose such an odd person to model myself from, and asked what my name was, before scoffing and telling me ‘I meant your real name.’ That exchanged took as long as me relaying it did, plus about ten seconds total extra between him looking at me, and me saying, “what stolen card?” the point is, if I live with him, it’s hard to keep a secret, and most of the secrets I keep aren’t secrets at all, just not things that were never relevant enough to come up in discussion or deduction. This is a man who routinely solves cases without leaving he flat, after just a conversation. So when you tell him, I can’t promise any of it will remain secret. And he’s an asshole. He’s a great man, and does good things, but he can be an absolute dick, so I would ask for sensitivity while assuming you probably won’t get it. I can’t protect you from that but I made a promise to you to keep your secret and to do my best to be someplace safe for you, so you have to tell him. in fact, for every question I get about you that comes up, my answer is to say nothing and smile, and possibly shrug, before directing it to you. that’s the best I can do.”

Annie blinks at her.

“you’re upset.” She says.

She sighs. “I’m rolling.”

“what?!”

“no not like that. I mean like momentum, rolling. Like I’m not in control of it.”

“why?”

“We told Cal, and Sherlock’s brother. Cal was moved, deeply and then suddenly everyone thinks I’m pregnant because Sherlock decided to make a reference hat if we have kids cal would be an uncle…. except he left out the if and when it was pointed out, he added that he left out when as well.”

Annie laughs. “you?”

She looks a t her. “wait I feel like you’re insulting me.”

“Oh please. I can’t imagine you being mommie deare--- oh my god. wait you aren’t though”

“not unless it happened last night.”

She looks shocked and then her face caves in understanding. “that’s where you were? bumping uglies with the hat man.”

“that’s a lovely way to put it. anyway, that happened and then I basically had to explain all the adoption stuff because sherlock and I never really discussed it. He knew I had a dad in America who knew about him, but it would blow cover to have Sherlock fly out and dad… you know how broke dad is. and dad’s angry with him.”

“why?”

“because we went through almost four years with no contact at all, and the accident was early in the first. His mother called towards the end of the second to say he was faking his death and would be out of contact even to them, and they didn’t know for how long. And then three years ago dad read in the news he had gotten engaged to a woman, and the papers had a field day. He told me not to read them.”

“He got engaged while married to you?”

She waves. “non-issue. It was for a case. And that’s not the point. The point is a lot of things that weren’t important or even relevant to discuss suddenly have become so. I was happy with the way things were.”

“and you aren’t now?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“you didn’t say otherwise—”

“well otherwise. I love that man, and once we finish these conversations with friends and family, the games really begin. But first he has –“

Her phone beeps.

RECEIVED: _Molly done._

“what’s up?”  
“we’re communicating back and forth about where we stand as far as telling friends and family.

RECEIVED: _have two left, concurrent._

She smiles. “he’s got one last round left now. That’s good because I’m worried about—”

“julian!” she says.

“julian.” She nods.

“are you going to tell him now?”

“once we’re done.” She nods. “then probably the rest of the boys, although I’m not particularly fond of the idea of needing to tell them. So if they don’t know, stick to that I moved in with him?”

She nods. “okay… but Jack.”

“ugh.”

“look it’s habit now and has been for like twenty plus years.”

She waves.

“Julia.” She says correcting.

“ew.” She says to annie. “yeah that sounds weird from you.” she smiles for being annoying on purpose.

“fucking Jackie! Whatever, look, okay so you’re married. And you said you’re in love, but… well, are you happy?”

“in this exact moment I’m nervous. Wary. But not about sherlock. once I tell Jude I’ll feel bet—” she stops.

“what?”

“mm. bad feeling. Listen though annie, the question of if I’m happy to be with sherlock. to be moving in. I’m really happy actually.”

“so this is what you want?”

“he told cal that he couldn’t protect me. that he realized he couldn’t. that I would die one day. that we could absolutely live without each other. but one day we will die and what he can’t do is not give us a fighting chance to be there to say goodbye when we die, because that chance is gone before you know it.”

Annie touches her heart.

“he was shot three years ago. I broke my hand so I could see him in the hospital, because everyone was looking for whoever shot him and some random woman visiting him would be suspicious. And I still couldn’t get to see him in his room. He didn’t even know I did it until he as released to recover and came to his parents, since I stayed there to make sure he as okay. he didn’t realize I did it on purpose until he overheard a conversation between myself and mabel, his mother. About that, and how I couldn’t read the papers or follow him. that even though I knew he was alive, I had to ask my dad to do the monitoring and filter, and know that if he really did die or get hurt or something that Mabel would call me. I didn’t expect him to say something like that.” she says blinking.

“oh my god. Julia.” She says.

“shut up.”

“oh you do love him.”

“I do. And I’m sure you’ll see that if we spend any time all together. and you’ll question how I could. Or maybe you won’t.”

“because you’re both assholes?”

“precisely. So… are we okay?”

“if you’re happy I’m happy. I mean I really don’t want—”

“I’ll be there when you tell him. I’ll stand behind him so hopefully he can’t read me. and smack him if he’s an ass.”

She takes a deep breath. “does this mean that we can’t—”

“I’m still here for you annie. I’m committed to him, and that commitment is strong, but as far as I’m…” she pauses. “annie you can always talk to me. I will keep your secrets and I’ll try to maintain your privacy from him. but you should see about—”

“no.” she says. “don’t start. Don’t even a little”

“okay annie. But I do have to—”  
“no.” she says.

“yes.” she says. “I have to say this. I have to.”

“fuck you.”

“this isn’t healthy—”

“FUCK YOU.”

“what’s going on?” calls julian.

“FINE!” she shouts. “MIND YOUR BUSINESS.” “you can’t be dependent on me. I was trying to help you and keep you safe. to be there for you and all that but I can’t be your security blanket. I was always supposed to be like training whells and you have to understand that I’ll help pick you up if you fall, but I can’t be those wheels anymore.”

Annie stands up angrily.

“because I fucked up. annie, I liked it. it felt good. I was lonely. And so I let things get blurrier because I wanted to feel that warm connected feeling too, annie. I care about you more than a friend. but we aren’t together. but the affection is real. It’s been real for a long time. and I’m going to get in trouble with him because that’s true. i was bending the rules because I liked how it made me feel and I let you rely on me more than I should have. And you know, you know we got blurry. If we care about each other the way we have ,and I liked letting you use me as I have, that is a relationship. it isn’t what it looks like, except that there are parts that are.”

She has taken annie’s hands. Annie looks uncomfortable.

“Please sit annie and tell me why you’re uncomfortable.”

“you know why I’m uncomfortable.”

“because you’re not comfortable with me telling you that you’ve been using me as a security blanket, or that you are uncomfortable with my affection?”

“I…”

“please get a real sponsor annie. It’s not okay that I became sponsor and blanket and… do you think I’ve enabled you?”

“I hate this.”

“I know. but I don’t ant to enable you. and being a replacement is an enabler. Because I know why you turned to what you did, and you turned to me for the same. Not at first. And that might be something that makes sherlock very angry because that sounds a lot like a relationship. not just a relationship, but the kind of relationship he wouldn’t respect, where people latch to eachother instead of standing on their own two feet. Not supportive friends. Latching.”

“I hate you.” she says softly.

She looks at her sadly. “annabelle.”

“so basically I have to break the news that you have all that going on—”  
“no no. I’ll do that. once the why it started is explained and I get a gage for what he knows.”

“because he’ll know everything. he’ll know exactly what happened to me and you’re going to make me tell some random man it when you promised you never would tell.”

“he might. And I think he should.”

“because if he feels bad for me he won’t get mad at you.”

She swallows. “I… what should I do then annie? I still have to keep your—”

“tell him yourself. Tell him whatever you have to.” she says opening the door and yelling.

“annie!”

“no!”

“you promised!” she calls.

Julian opens the door.

“what the fuck?”

“YOU promised!” she shouts back.

“My hands are TIED. What would you have me do? Lie? I can’t d that. I won’t do that, and it wouldn’t work if I tried to. ANNIE!” she calls and annie stops. “please.”

Annie walks up to her and slaps her. She does it hard, the slap ringing out, splitting her lip a bit, before pointing. “I know who you are. you live with knowing that I’ll keep your promises, but you’ll not keep my—”

She grabs her and whispers. “shouting about it isn’t keeping it.”

“let go of me.”

She does.

“leave me alone and go fuck yourself.”

“annie!”

“no let her go.” Says julie.

“what the hell is going on.”

“she’s angry.”

“no shit.” Says julian.

“I have to tell you something.”

“me?” he says.

“yes. but I need one second. Do you want to come in to ours though. I have to pack my stuff too.”

“Pack—what the hell is happening.”

“will you just come in?” she says going in and texting.

SENT: _Annie’s done. About to start second._

He sits on the bed as she packs up the remaining stuff. She opens the chest.

“Can I have your duffel bag? Trade for the chest?”

“I—why?”

“because I need to be able to carry it by myself.”

“so you’re leaving? Is that the jist?”

“uh, not really. can you?”

“I, yeah. but what did you do to my sister.”

“I told her something that surprised her. and I told her something she didn’t like.”

“what was all that about promises?”

“I have something to tell you, and I have to ask you not tell anyone. Annie knows. And Cal. But that’s it. I want your word julian. Your word on the twenty years of friendship.”

“i… yes. okay. you have it. Julia you know you can always count on me. Always. I love you.”

She swallows.

“duffel.” She says. “let me get all this packed and then we’ll talk about it okay.”

“you’re scaring me Julia. Are you in some kind of trouble? Did you do something illegal?”

“no.” she says packing from her trunk. She pauses. She throws costumes against the wall and looks up. “fuck.” she says.

“did you guys break up?”

“annie and i?”

“obviously. did you?”

“I think so yes.”

He looks still at her. “will you tell me what happened?”

“I can’t tell you why exactly it is she’s mad, but I can tell you what started it. but I need to—” she says taking a minute. she puts the clothes in the bag and pops the bottom of the case. She touches the dress before pulling it out, and carefully placing it on top before taking the last bit out and zipping it up.

“so.”

“so.”

“julian. We’ve been friends for so long. You’ve been my best friend. I know annie and I have been closer lately, but you are still… you are someone I care about so much. So much julian. You know that right?”

“what’s going on? are you dying or something?”

“you promise that you’ll keep this to you. don’t tell smith. Don’t tell the other boys.”

“I can’t imagine anything I wouldn’t be—”

“I know you can’t which is why I’m asking you to promise me you won’t. seriously. I’ll tell you what to say to your parents. to the boys.” She says.

“okay. okay what?”

“I’m not traveling on with you all. I’m staying in England and I’ve found a flatmate. Cal will probably stay. Annie and I had a fight but I hope she’ll consider staying for the work, but I don’t think she will.”

He pauses looking at her. “that’s the secret.”

“that’s what you tell people.” she says. “repeat it back to me.”

“I… wait but what—”

“please repeat it.”

“you’re not traveling anymore you’ve got a flatmate and are staying in London. That you and annie fight or broke up or something. That if you two will work together will be determined.”

“thank you. that’s what you tell the boys. Smith. Your parents. that’s it, and you tell them that’s all you know. do you promise?”

“okay. I promise.”

“I’m not moving in with a flatmate. But I am moving in with someone.”

He looks at her.

“you met him.”

“him?”

“yes. and we’re actually… we’re married.”

He looks at her uncomprehendingly.

“sherlock and I—”

“sherlock? the detective?”

“yes. we got married in California, under a confidential marriage license. Almost twelve years ago.”

He looks at her shocked. “what?”

“we’ve been married the whole time. we see each other sometimes when I say I’m seeing family, but no one knew because—”

“no.” he says. “you’re fucking with me.”

She sighs. “Jules.” She says. “I’m really not. That’s the marriage license.”

He blinks at her.

“Julian.” She says stepping to him. “maybe we should—”

He punches the wall.

“JULIAN!” she shouts.

“OW! FUCK!” he says. “How could you be married to him? and how could you not TELL me? ME!”

“It was for protection.” She says.

He scoffs. “like you need protect—”

“HIS protection.” She says.

“you got married for his protection?”

“no I didn’t tell you for his protection. I mean, yes mine too. look will you sit alright?”

He looks around helplessly.

She sits. “mr montcrieff.” She says softly, a hand to him.

He sits down next to her on the queen bed.

“Sherlock is a detective. This you already know.”

He nods.

“he’s very good, which means he alternatively attracts the attention of, and pisses off, very dangerous people. The kind of people who would, say, kidnap and torture a romantic interest to get results they wanted.”

“and I’m one of those very dangerous people?” he says.

“no of course not.” She says. “don’t be silly.”

“I feel like maybe I should be insulted.” Says julian.

“you feel like you are insulted because I didn’t make an exception to tell you.” she says back.

He looks at her, his face still, before saying. “well?”

“Sherlock… he never thought he’d get married. There are two branches to this belief. The first is that he found such relationships trivial, limiting, cumbersome, and mind-numbingly tedious. Arguments about why he isn’t home for dinner and why he doesn’t put the washing IN the hamper. Endless menial conversations that he has to pretend to be interested in. The second branch is that there are many steps in between meeting and marriage. Dating, a relationship, moving in possibly before marriage, etc. If he were to be as successful in his chosen career, very dangerous people would, and have used any person he has a relationship with. His partner John’s been kidnapped I don’t know how many times. It would be unfair to put some woman at that kind of risk just for a date, especially given that he doubted he’d have any long-term interest in someone. To be romantically involved with someone, he’d have to be absolutely sure it was serious, but how could he ever know for sure it was serious unless he dated, and how would he ever even get to a serious relationship if he’d definitely blow her off for a case, and had no interest in things like going to the movies or weekend barbeques, blah blah blah.”

“yes he sounds like such a catch.” Says julian sarcastically.

“don’t you get it?” she says. “I do whatever the hell I want. Go wherever I like. You scoffed at the idea of protecting me, because I to this day still think I am the greatest danger to myself and I like it that way. I don’t go to shows. I’m in them. and by the time a weekend barbeque rolls around I’ve probably moved on to somewhere else. We got married because we have been ideally suited for one another. We had never intended to live together, or make any sacrifice to our chosen lives. We coordinate, have few expectations, have less obligations to each other. Never intending to live together, we had no need to give up anything, unless we both coordinate it.”

“and so you didn’t tell me because—”

“because we didn’t tell anyone. Except his parents and dad. Think about it. We never intended to live together. I wanted to be free to travel as much as I liked, perform wherever I wanted. But if I’m in another country… his brother works in government, and he didn’t know. This morning when he told him… did I say this or did he? well one of us said that if he let slip, or anyone in his staff, even with his resources, truly great criminals have much the same and are not slowed by policy or morals. We’d be gambling that his brother, and sherlock, would be able to get to me before the criminals could. That’s not a gamble either of us would take because the odds would be stacked against, especially considering the fact that either of them would probably only find out I was in danger because they already had me. It’s very hard to protect someone when they’re thousands of miles away and don’t stay still. So we didn’t tell anyone but parental figures. The rosamunde’s don’t know yet. His brother only just found out this morning. And julian, as long as we’ve known each other and as much fondness as I feel for you, I couldn’t really validate telling a friend when he couldn’t tell his own brother.”

“that’s not my problem.” Says julian.

“even so. If we were to ever tell people, his brother needed to be one of the first we told. This morning we told his brother, Cal, and his partner John. We hadn’t expected to tell John in that group, but apparently he came by to crash on the couch, and me walking out post shower in just a robe, so startled to find him there that I dropped the water glass in my hand… how exactly were we going to explain how I must have obviously spent the night because I’d have had to pass him on the couch if I’d come by that morning or from upstairs, and what would be the point since we’re telling everyone we’re close with today. So we just delayed for time until his brother got there, otherwise leaving our planned reveal unaltered.”

“You have to understand julian, it was about not just who you are to me. it was about who I am to my husband, about the insult to have his brother be the last to know. His parents only knew because I insisted the hurt it would bring them to not know would be terrible, especially because we were pretty sure no one else would find out who I was until one of us died. The hurt it would cause his brother would be justified, not that he really cared if it would. He’s bad about not caring if something might hurt someone until after it has. Not that he cares that often after, but it’s his brother for god’s sake. And Cal I knew would forgive me not telling him considering how we’re family. Did forgive quite easily actually.”

“yes that’s all nice and good but—wait. Annie. Did annie know?” he says sounding suddenly more angry.

“no one knew but dad and his parents.”

“you made my sister the other woman.”

She scoffs. “oh please.” she says.

“oh please what?” says julian.

“it’s not…” she makes an annoyed noise. “okay the thing with annie is… well I might get in some trouble with that. luckily it seems he might have seen a professional dominatrix.”

“he—what?!”

“oh calm your indignation. I find the whole thing hilarious. I’m really looking forward to what the rest of, ‘it wasn’t, it was only…’ is. and I can’t imagine that for him, but it was never an issue for me to fool around with women. I always had the policy of not sleeping with men unless I’m married to them. Men and women having sex can lead to babies, even with prophalactics and or contraceptives. But women can’t get me pregnant. And after collette I adopted a policy of never sleeping with someone who loves me or who I love without being married to them. regardless of gender. Sherlock found the policy charming, and saw no problem with it as long as I was safe to avoid diseases.”

“but annie—”

“as I said, I might get in trouble for that.” she says. “but it’s not… it was about convenience.”

“it was about… she’s my SISTER! She LOVES you.” he says this, popping up off the bed.

Julie makes a face.

He picks her up by the collar.

“how DARE you. Convinience? CONVINIENCE!?” he says shaking her.

“let go julian.”

“so let me get this straight.” He says holding her coat, his face in hers. “you’ve been married to some man this whole time, and didn’t believe any of us warranted knowing—”

“I told you—”

“and that you USED my SISTER?” he says putting her against the wall.

“Julian.” She says warningly.

“no, fuck you. So I’m betting Annie storming—what did she mean she’d keep your promises, but you weren’t—”

“I need you, and her to not tell anyone. Remember. I told you what to say to people. you promised you—”

He slams her against the wall, hard and her breath catches. “fucking ow.” She says.

“why the hell would she keep—you USED her!”

She doesn’t say anything.

“and I’m guessing you telling us at all is because it’s this stranger you chose over her.”

“that’s not. He’s my husband julian. I made a commitment to sherlo—”

He slams her again. “you made a commitment to annie—”

“no I didn’t. it’s not my fault she thought it would go on forever. I never said it wou—”

He punches her in the gut. Hard. she gags and pushes him. “Fucking stop!” she says.

“no fuck you. I may make it a habit of not hitting a woman, but I know you can take a hit better than most men and if you’re going to act like a dog, I’ll beat you like a dog. She’s my fucking sister, and you being a girl won’t make me go easy on you.”

“what about me being your friend—”

“You used my SISTER!” he says slamming her against the wall.

“JULIAN!” she shouts.

“it’s one thing to break my heart.” He says loudly to her, tears in his eyes. “I was never—” he starts to weaken his grip on her, his voice choking a bit as he bends his head. she moves and he slams her to the wall again as he sets his jaw. “I was never good enough for you. Why was I never—”

“julian.” She says softly, looking at him. “I thought you had—”

“moved on?” he asks. “I thought you were gay. you know I thought that. you said if you could feel for any man those kinds of feelings it would be me.”

“No. I didn’t.” she says. “you said that.”

“you agreed.”

“no julian. I didn’t agree. I didn’t say anything.”

He growls in pain. “you were going to be montcrieff. That was always—”

“no it wasn’t!” she shouts back. “I was never going to be a montcrieff. Not with you. not with annie. and you had no reason to believe I’d be anything but a Dawson.”

“so that you could be—”  
“fuck no. I am Mizz Dawson. I earned that right and getting married doesn’t change who the fuck I am. Like because we’ve known each other and I’ve had Christmas dinner with you you get to stamp me? brand me and lay claim. Go fuck yourself.”

He punches her across the face, right where annie slapped her.

“you led me on—”

“no I didn’t! I never asked you to feel anything and I asked you what feels like a million times to not have them.”

“I couldn’t help it.”

“you did—”

“no I didn’t. I just accepted that it would never be because you ended up in love with my sister. and i thought you’d treat her the way she deserved. My best friend. no one else could stand any chance of being good enough for annie, and I really believed no one was really good enough for you, except my sister. The two women who I care for most in the world, never being with someone who’d treat them—but I was so wrong.” he says her collar in his fist. “you don’t deserve annie. for someone who is so against treating people like property. Like an object. You fucking hypocrite.” He says.

“julian.” She says softly. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“for hurting—” he slams her into the wall, her feet off the floor. One of her shoes falls to the ground. “it isn’t about me!” he says slaming her against the wall with every word. “it’s about annie!”

At annie, she goes through the wall, crashing through.

She gasps and groans.

He stops, shocked at himself.

“Julia.” He says in shock letting go, and she falls through more, the wall crashing and crumpling around her.

“shit. Julia.”

She sobs once in the wall. He pulls her out, and sees that she’s bleeding from her head in several places. Cuts are across her face.

“stop please.” she says kicking him away. “you need to be done beating me like a dog now. It’s taking everything I have not to fight back but for god’s sake, if you put a dog down you just shoot it!”

She gets up shakily leaning against the wall and coughing. She wretches but doesn’t vomit. “oh god.” she says.

“Julia. i.. shit. Okay. let me take you to—”

“oh fuck off with that.” she says and her voice is low and angry, despite the shaking. “you promised you wouldn’t say anything. i get you’re angry with me, but the promise isn’t for me. well, not just me. we have more people to tell. People who will be very hurt to find out it’s a secret, but people who it would hurt more to find out from some journalistic enterprise. Or even just from someone else.”

“i… are you okay—”

“no I’m not fucking okay! you beat—” she sobs. “you fucking beat me.”

“julia.” He says. “it—”

“was for annie. which is why I’m going to leave because I know that despite how badly I want to return the favor, I know what it was for, and I know I haven’t really got a choice, especially because you could hurt people besides me with this knowledge. Like he rosamundes for one two and three.”

She stands still shaking, wobbly a bit.

“but don’t think for one second I don’t know that some of that was because you’re ego can’t stand it wasn’t y—”

He moves to punch her and she grabs his arm and bends it against the wall, fist at the ready as she hovers above him before growling angrily and taking her hand back, letting go. “you made a promise. Keep it. if for nothing then for the twenty years of friendship—”

“what friendship. You’re a liar.”

“I never lied to you!” she says. “I omitted what I had to, and if you gave a shit about me you’d see that. If you loved your ego more than you supposedly love—”

“loved.”

“thank Christ.” She says. “finally. past tense. well check your ego because it was because I loved my husband, and my husband loved me. it was for protection, and how dare you believe I would risk the man I love for the man I didn’t.”

He takes a step toward her. “no.” she says. “you will keep it, or I will tell cal this was you. which will be a mercy because I have never killed some, cal has never killed someone, but sherlock absolutely has, and he also will. So you will protect the feelings of those we care about, and I will protect you for beating me. say you will because I need to walk away because it does appear I deserve to take this without retaliation.”

She says this, her whole body tense.

Julian looks angry and confused, but she walks away quickly, stumbles a bit.

“where the fuck are you even going—”  
“away from you.” she calls back.

“julia—”

“DON’T FOLLOW ME!” she shouts.

“hey! Woah what happened, did he do that to you?” she says to the stranger.

“fuck off.” she says.

“jack, where have you—what the FUCK?!” says smith. The two americans, Wesley and Garrett have food with them.

“I saw someone else last night.” she says.

“someone—besides annie?” says smith.

“and it wasn’t the first time. Just the first time she knew. Julian didn’t like it when I said we were only together for convenience. And I’m not arguing with this.” she says. “I’m not laying a finger on him because using annie deserves an asskicking. Look I think it’s time I stop traveling with all of you, and I’ll bet you’ll agree, so I’ll be staying in London when you move on. I hope annie will consider working together but I doubt it. Cal and I will make arrangements. I’ve already had someone offer me a room so I’m going to go take him up on it since I doubt I could afford a place of my own. That’s all there is to say on it, now let me go because I can’t promise if I stay and look at julian’s face anymore I won’t cave it in, and I’m sure you’re all disinclined to help me knowing the situation so I’ll take my fucking leave.”

“where’s annie.” says smith.

“well she stormed off after slapping me so I am sure I don’t know. afternoon.”

“jack.” Says wesley.

“I guess you really are a bastard after all!” calls smith.

“fuck off. not my fault if you didn’t pay attention.” She calls back.

“she’s really hurt.” Says julian. “I—”

“no fuck her.” says smith. “good job and good riddance.”

Wesley watches her stumble.

“she’s got a concussion.” He says. “she needs to go to the hospital.”

“she cheated on annie. I’m sure if she dies in an alley she’ll get what she deserves.” Says smith.

“she deserves to have blood slowly bleed into her brain? She could have permanent brain damage. what the hell did you do?” says wesley.

“are you kidding?” says smith. “garrett, come on. tell him—”

“staying out of it. but where is annie?” says garrett. “because if jack really said that to her, no matter how tough she is I’m sure she’s in a bad way. and I don’t know if you forgot how hard she used to hit anything that would make the world spin—”  
“oh Christ.” Says wesley. “I’ll call her.”


	5. Concussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julie is cared for upon reaching Baker Street.

## Chapter five: Concussions and Confessions

“Lestrade. Mrs hudson.” Says sherlock sitting them down on the couch. “I have some news.”

“yes you said on the phone.” Says greg.

“what’s going on?” says mrs hudson.

“this news will come as quite a shock to you both. I’m sure you’ll both be tempted to resist accepting it’s true, a bunch of, are you serious, how could that be, there’s no way. I assure you I am serious, it can be because it is, etc etc. I ask you to refrain from that, and also to understand that this is not something I’m telling you so it can end up in the papers tomorrow.”

“oh do be serious.” Says mrs hudson. “things often only end up in the papers because john blogs about it, and since he doesn’t do that anymore—”  
“yes and john’s been informed not to. I’ve also told molly. That’s why I said I needed to walk her home, so we could discuss this news in private. But i do need to check you both understand—”

“will you just spit it out.” says lestrade.

“I’m married.” He says.

“whuh? You’ve got to be—”

“not joking. Have been for just shy of twelve years.”

“that’s not—”

“it is possible because it has been so.”

“but how—”

“we got married under a confidential marriage license, something offered in the state of California. This allowed for even mycroft to be surprised by this news. My parents knew, and her… previously foster now adoptive dad. Her family dynamics a bit odd, apparently.”  
“but—”

“who is she?” says mrs hudson.

“Julianna Rosamunde-Dawson.” He says. “you met her briefly yesterday.”

“the performer?”

“whuh?” says greg.

“yes.” says sherlock. “it wasn’t relevant to tell anyone up until now precisely because she has been a travelling performer. But now that she’s moving in—”  
“she’s moving in?” says mrs hudson.

“technically some of her stuff already has. We’re telling close family and friends since she’ll be here, but we may go through a second wedding so friends and family can be there. It seems like something my parents found particularly touching, and will ease the transition for the public. this is of course if we actually can stand living together.”

“married.”

“since december… well you can see for yourself. I have the marriage license here.” he says.

“nevermind the license. Do you have pictures from the wedding? The first one?”

“a couple. But there in a lock box of hers and I haven’t got the key. I’m sure you’ll both meet her soon. We’re telling everyone, for the most part today. I think she just has some… something like family? the rosamundes of Rosamunde-dawson.”

“but—”

The door opens.

…

Annie is in an alley speaking to a particularly thin man. Her hands shake a bit as she pulls bills from her pocket.

“first time—”

“shut the fuck up. do you want my money or not.” She says.

“wha’eva. Here. stupid bitch.” He says. he hands her a couple packets, and a small bag of pills.

“have you got clean needles?”

“for coke? Are you kidding me?”

“I’m not a fucking amateur.” She says. “and you really shouldn’t call women stupid bitches. I’m far from stupid, and I may well be a bitch, but it’s extremely rude. I am the customer after all.”

“I don’t like your tone.” He says.

“I don’t like your incompetence, but I’ll pay you your stupid price regardless. Needle.”

“I’ve got preloaded heroin, that’s—”  
“how much?”

“are you fucking—”

She holds up a hundred pound note.

“thank you for doing business with me. hope to see you again.”

“jackie. Good to meet you. until next time.”

Her phone rings.

“oh for fuck’s sake.” she says and rejects the call. “anyway. I think now it’s time to find some secluded place.”

“I can help—”  
“I told you. I’m not stupid. Until next time.” she says walking away.

She heads to the subway, puts an out of order sign on the bathroom. The men’s bathroom, and locks the door. she smacks a vein an mixes the coke with water, spinning the shooting the heroin into the concotion and stirring it.

Her phone rings.

…

She stumbles down the street, and bares her teeth at anyone who approaches, people watching as she steps through 221B door, dropping the bag she’d basically begun to drag. She falls out of a shoe and throws the other.

“is that—” says Lestrade as they hear stumbling on the stairs. Sherlock stands and takes a step toward he stairs just as she comes up and runs into him.

“oh.” she says blinking at him. “no move.” She says as she pushes him aside and stumbles to the trash before vomiting, holding herself up with an arm.

“Julie!” he says.

“oh my god! what happened to you?” says lestrade.

She spits. “I got my ass beat.” she says before groaning and pushing off.

“who would you allow to do this without—”

“shut up.” she says. “just stop it.” she says.

“julianna, you come in here after someone clearly put you quite forcefully through a wall and expect me not to notice that your hands indicate for all the damage you received, not an ounce was returned. Tell me who did this so I can remedy—”

“you will do no such thing. fuck I didn’t think you were here.” she says.

“in my flat? you didn’t think I was here in my flat.”

“who are these people.” she says.

“mrs hudson and Lestrade.”

“list?”

“last of.” He says. “they know who you are.”

“then our flat. not yours. I didn’t go through all this for it not to be ours.”

“I’m sorry but I’m still—”  
“you will not remedy this situation because it would be wrong for you to do so.”

“and why is—”

She dials the phone leaning against the wall.

“because he’s angry I used his sister, and he’s not exactly wrong.”

“annie?” he says.

“annie.” she says, dialing. “oh for fuck’s sake. come on.” she’s crying.

“Julie—”

She puts a hand up. “annie, Christ. Are you okay?”

_For fuck’s sake what do you want? I’m not going to ease your conscious._

“annie I need you.”

Sherlock looks at her.

“please tell me you’re okay.”

_You NEED me? oh really? and when I need you_

“I’m hurt annie.”

_Blah blah_

“oh for fuck’s sake annie it’s not like that.”

_You’re so full of shit._

“are you kidding me!”

_Are you kidding me?_

“No I’m not annie. I really need you to be okay and I need you to come here. I’m at baker street—”

_You manipulative piece of garbage you really think I’m going to fall for that. I need you, but you kick me to the curb and expect me to—_

“ANNABELLE! I have been here for YEARS and the ONE TIME I need you you—”

_Fuck off with that. you won’t manipulate me into—_

“ANNIE!”

_I abandon you right back. Right back bastard jack._

“ann—” she stops when the phone clicks and punches the wall, running straight through the wall, all the way to her elbow.

“woah!” says lestrade.

“my wall!” says mrs hudson.

“shit fucking hell.” She says, each in three languages, shaking her arm out, and sliding down the wall, putting her head against the wall, and crossing her arms across her body.

…

Annie looks irritated at her phone before setting it down and pulling the syringe, filling it with the eight ball.

Her phone rings again.

“oh for fuck’s— if jack is having you call me garrett—”

_No no. We ran into her on the way out. Where are you? Are you alright? wait, did Jack call?_

“yes she fucking called. I just got off the phone with her. you ran into her on her way out? did she say anything?”

_I should say so. she said you two were…_

“were what?”

_I’m so sorry annie._

“what did she actually say garrett?”

_She said she slept with someone else. That it wasn’t the first time she’d been with someone other than you, just the first time she told you. That you slapped her and stormed off. Julian apparently lost his mind on her for it, if that helps at—_

“why would it make me feel better if julian lost his mind about it?”

_Because he was standing up for you? I mean he said that jack said she was only with you out of convenience. Smith says good riddance, and hopes if she’s concussed that she bleeds into—_

“concussed? Wait… is she… I just talked to her. she said she was hurt—”

_Well I should say so. She looked like death. Julian really did a number on her. There’s a big bloody hole in the wall—_

“he put her THROUGH THE WALL?”

_Yeah. I know. and she wouldn’t let us take her to the hospital. Not that anyone but wes wanted to. I mean, I’m sure she’ll go there herself. she’s not stupid—_

“what hospital is julian in?”

_He’s not. She didn’t even hit him, apparently. I guess she felt guilty about it all. I’ll bet that’s why she told you at all. and she said she was leaving. That she’s not travelling with us anymore and that she’s walking away so she doesn’t turn around and fight back or whatever because she deserved it._

“who did she say she slept with?”

_She didn’t say who she was. I kind of assumed she didn’t know her._

“i… oh my god. and julian is fine?”

_He’s a bit shaken up. he keeps saying ‘how could she? How could he be so wrong about her. he’s pretty broken up about it to be honest, but you know, you are his sister—_

“are you with him right now?”

_Yeah. why?_

“let me talk to him.”

_Julian._

_Hey._

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?”

_i—what?_

“Don’t react. Did she tell you everything?”

_How the hell would I know if she told me everything._

“did she tell you who she was with last night?”

_Yes. She told—_

“and you promised to stick to the story. That she’s moving in with a roommate and not traveling anymore.”

_Oh for the, who cares—_

“a promise to a friend of over twenty years. I assume you’ve kept it.”

_Well… yes._

_What’s going on?_ she hears.

_Shut up._

“did you put jackie through a WALL?”

_Are you seriously angry with me? are you fucking—she used you._

“no.”

_No?_

“no, you stupid fucking asshole.”

_You don’t know. she said she was with you out of convenience.”_

“not HER CONVINIENCE.”

_Not… what?_

“I can’t fucking— oh my god.” she says. “fuck I need to get to baker street.”

_To baker street?_

_What?_

“yes to fucking baker street. Her new flat, with her new FLATMATE, as you will recall the story is. I can’t fucking— how COULD YOU!? SHE’S YOUR BEST FRIEND AND YOU PUT HER THROUGH A WALL? NO.”

_What the hell is going on? annie what do you mean she didn’t mean her convenience?_

“what the fuck do you think I mean?”

_Do you mean…_

“mine you fucking imbecile.”

_Yours?_

_What?_ she hears in the background.

“you tell those asshats that I was with a lot more people besides her then she was with me, and if they are going to hang someone we’ve known for years out to dry, they make sure they have all the information before you beat—you BEAT MY JULIA!”

_i… she’s not your Julia, annie and you know—_

“you’re right. She’s not my Julia. She’s not anybody’s. but you have no idea… you know what, I’m wasting my energy talking to you because right now making sure Julia is okay is what matters, but know this. I hate you right now, and I’ll make absolutely sure you know why when I’m done checking on YOUR best friend, who called me in tears telling me she was hurt and she needed me because you—I can’t. I just fucking can’t.”

 She says this putting the things in her pocket. She looks at the needle and pauses, but when she says can’t she steps on it and leaves.

…

“what the hell is going on.” says sherlock.

She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “can I have some water or something.”

“you don’t need water, you need a hospital.”

She waves him away. “I’m fine.”

“you bloody well—”

“yes I’m bloodied well, but I HATE hospitals, Bart’s most of all, so please don’t fucking make me go so they can tell me what I already know. I’m fine. help me up so I can save my dress.”

“so you can save your—that is not—”

She stands slowly and unzips her coat. “if you don’t help I’m stealing your clothes because the dress is at the top of the bag, at the bottom of the stairs.”

“the dress—”

“THE dress.” She says. “which I would really appreciate if you brought the whole bag up and at least hung up the dress because I put a lot of effort in keeping it in good condition all these years and I don’t want it to get ruined or mistreated.”

She unzips her coat and takes it off dropping it on the floor, before reaching back to unzip her dress, wincing.

“Julie—good god woman—”

“don’t—WOMAN!?” she says dropping her hand. “don’t fucking—I have literally a ton of names for you to chose from. At least run through the ones you know first, jesus.” She says, her hand against the wall.

“really dear I think you should sit down.”

“I don’t want to bleed on my dress.”

“I’ll buy you a new one.” he says.

“it was a gift and it’s one of a kind so you’ll help me rescue this one, or at least allow me to.” she says as he walks off and returns. “over top. Happy?”

She snatches it, wincing again.

“fuck.” she says. she bends over a bit.

“sit down Julie, Christ. Greg get a towel from the bathroom. I’m calling an ambulance.”

“NO!” she shouts. “don’t you dare.” She starts shaking hard.

“what the—are you—”

“shut up.” she says. “I’m not dying and I’m not going back to a hospital unless someone is.”

“don’t be stupid.” He says. “you need a doctor.”

“John.” says lestrade. “we could call john—”  
“right.” Says sherlock taking his phone out.

“he might not be able to get here with rosie” says mrs hudson.

“call molly. Ask her to come.” He says. he turns. “please.”

“is that—”

“do it.” he says.

“does she know about—”

“yes. John.” he says.

_I’ve only been with rosie for a couple hours. I really can’t—_

“Julie’s been attacked.”

_She what? since this morning._

“obviously. I suspect she’s got a concussion. She can barely stand up, which doesn’t stop her from insisting on it.”

_What? okay I’ll—_

“we’re calling molly to come here now, but what do we do while we wait.”

_I’d have to look at her, but if you suspect she’s got a concussion you should really get her to a hospital._

“she’s refusing that.”

_Well that may not be something she gets to refuse sherlock. look regardless she should lay down. elevate her head slightly to keep her spine straight and have her be still._

“I’m going to put you on speaker. Julie, you have to lie down.”

“I’m fine.” she says.

_Julie, what happened?_

“I have never done so much explaining—in all my life.” she says catching her breath a bit.

_Julie, lay down please._

“molly is on her way.” says mrs hudson.

_Good. okay one of you take a photo of the damage and send it to my email. Julie, you really do need to lay down, at least until molly takes a look at you._

“like on the floor? Have you seen this floor?”

“I’ll get a towel.”

“Get two.” Says sherlock.

_How did this happen Julie?_

“for god’s sake—”

_No I mean what caused the injury. Were you hit with something?_

“with an open hand twice, a closed fist once, and then slammed into and through a wall.”

_Through a WALL? Jesus._

“I’m fine—”

_Are you a doctor?_

She scoffs a laugh. “well… fine.” she says.

_Good. now, did you lose concsiousnous? Do you remember?_

“I do remember and no I didn’t.”

_How about nausea._

“she vomited as soon as she made it inside.”

_More than once?_

“no. only the one time.”

_And are you still nauseous._

“nauseated.”

 _You are?  
_ “no. I’m not. But it’s nauseated not nauseous.”

Sherlock laughs once. “really?”

“well nauseous means to cause nausea. I hope I’m not that, but I’m pretty sure I’d notice if I’d have effected people in that way.”

_That’s good._

‘I think so.” she says. “but most people I think—”

_That’s not what I mean. okay so no nausea at all?_

“i… maybe a little queasy. But I’m—” she sobs a bit and chokes a bit.

_What was that._

“for fuck’s sake I’m upset.”

“she’s crying.” Says sherlock. his voice indicates that it’s upsetting. “it’s not like her.”

“fuck off. I do so cry, when the occasion warrants. You’ve just never been around for such an event.”

He’s still. After a moment, he says, “Julie i—”

“no I don’t mean it like that.” she says. “I just mean you don’t know if it’s strange or not so you don’t get to diagnose it as abnormal.”

“well I’ve been around post fight and I’ve never—”

“this isn’t a fight. It was a beating.” She says. “which is why you are so adamant to both get me to a hospital and find the person who did it. are there more questions?” she says.

 _Uh…_ he clears his throat. _Okay yes. dizziness?_

“while laying on the floor, sitting, or standing up?”

_All of the above._

“a little to all, with a bit extra for standing. But it picks up when i cry.”

_Right. Okay. is your vision blurred.. beyond tears._

“not since… I don’t know, five minutes maybe—”

Her phone rings and she shoots up.

“Julie lay down.” says sherlock.

“my phone!”

“for god’s sake it’s not important—”  
“give it to me or I will bite your ankles off.” she says.

“you’ll what?” he says laughing a bit despite himself. she snatches the phone, and answers. “hello?”

_Are you still at baker street?_

“yes. I’m still here.”

_Are you okay?_

“I’m… they’ve called doctor friends. I’m on speaker with one now.”

“AND SHE NEEDS TO LAY DOWN.”  
“Fine!” she says. “apparently I have to lay down.” she says.

_You have to—jesus god what the hell? Look I’m on my way but I have no idea where it is so—TAXI!”_

“my ear.” She says.

 _What’s wrong with her ear?_ Says john.

“my friend screaming for a taxi through the phone.”

_Tell me you have cash with you._

“yes. but you should have—annie did you—”

_I’m still clean. Hi, I need to get to baker street. uh”_

“221B”

_221B_

_The detective place?_

_Yes, and quickly._

“annie there’s a bunch of people here. Mrs Hudson the landlady and the police officer friend. Detective something Lestrade.”

_So?_

“it is Lestrade right?” she says looking up at him.

“uh yeah. detective inspector.”

“detective inspector Lestrade. That’s it. I have no idea what the equivalent of that is in America. Is it like a police captain?  
_is that… oh. cops._

“yeah.”

_…shit._

She shuts her eyes, and groans. “annie, you don’t have to come. I know you aren’t okay—”

_Wow._

“no listen. It’s not that dire. And I want you to take care of yourself. After all if you aren’t okay you can’t really—”

_Wait… oh. Oh. I can’t bring it in, is what you’re saying._

“please god fucking don’t.” she cries.

_Okay. i… okay. okay._

“yeah?”

_Are you okay?_

“no I’m not fucking okay. do I sound okay?” she says crying.

 _Shit. Can you hurry the fuck up? What? oh. one sec. because my money is upstairs asshat, jesus. Then run it I don’t give a fuck._ she hears the door slam. _Prick._

She laughs and hangs up as they hear steps on the stairs.

_What’s going on?_

“that girl annie is… here.” he says as annie comes through the door.

“hey.” She says. “where is she?”

He indicates the kitchen, and annie stops seeing her laying down.

“they’re making me lay down.”

“oh my GOD!” she says. “what the FUCK! oh my god.” she says sitting down and looking at her. “christ in heaven and all his garden gnomes.”

She laughs a bit. “annie.”

“shit I have to pay—”

“jacket.” She says grabbing her.

“I can’t.. okay two secs.”

“annie.” she says. “my landlady and Lestrade.” She says.

She nods. “you. go pay the cab.” She says handing him cash. “and leave a good tip.”

“did you—”

“i took a cab. I’m okay. really.” she says. “really. but jesus. What the hell?”

“he wasn’t happy.” she says softly.

“when you said you were hurt I thought you meant—”

“I did mean it.” she sobs. “how could he…”

“oh my god. oh Julia.” She says. “why are you on the ground?”

“she has a concussion.” Says sherlock.

_It probably is mild_

She startles.

“that’s dr Watson.” She says.

“back again. what did you do to that cabbie?”

“hello—oh my god!” says molly.

“I’d say it’s good to make your aquitance but this seems like a shitty reason. molly?”

“hi, molly hooper. Let me take a look at you. can one of you get something that will work as an ice pack? Mrs hudson, if you’ve got hand towels I’ll need those so we can stop the bleeding. Clean ones.”

“of course love.”

“alright let’s take a look at you.”

_Molly._

“oh! John.”

_Yes. she’s almost assuredly got a concussion, but it’s probably mild. No unconciousnous, one vomiting episode—_

“oh my god.” says annie.

“shush.” She says.

_Mild pain and dizziness, no visual disturbances reported. How’s she look?_

“like she’s been through hell.” Says molly. “she’s got brusing on her face—”

“I’m right here.” she says.

“ _you_ have bruising on her face, swelling around the cheekbone. Her lip is split pretty badly. She’s obviously bleeding from the top of her head. It’s time to sit up, slowly. Carefully. I’m taking a look now to see where she’s bleeding from but she’s definitely bleeding from more than one pla—” she pauses gasping a bit.

“what?” says annie.

“how many times did you get slammed against the wall before you went through?” she asks.

“i… a few.” She says.

“do you remember exactly?” says molly.

She thinks. “it depends on how you define slammed. Between five and eight. a few more just… shoves.”

Annie stands up, clearly pissed off. “I can’t believe—”

“annie.” she says. “it’s okay.”

“no it—NO IT FUCKING ISN—I AM GOING TO KILL—NO IT FUCKING ISN’T! How COULD he? How could you LET him?”

“I’m sure it’s not about—”

“yes it is.” say both sherlock and annie.

“what was I supposed to say?!” she says to annie. “he said I used you. he’s not wrong.”

“the fuck he isn’t. I mean for god’s—jack. Oh jack.” She says coming to her as she cries. “okay, you can’t keep crying. If for no other reason then—”

“I’m fucking crushed annie. Twenty years! Twenty-“ she becomes incoherent.

“Julia.” She says touching her face. “oh sweetheart. I’m… oh my god I’m so sorry. this is my fault. This is all—”

“no it isn’t.” she says. “No. it. isn—”  
“yes it is and you know deep down it is. No, stop it. you know the real reason what you said pissed me off? because you beat me to the punch, and hearing it come from you made it impossible for me to lie to myself. You didn’t do anything wr—”

“no annie you don’t understand. You don’t.. I… fuck.”

“shh. Shush.” Says annie.

“ow.” She says.

“oh jackie.” She says. “I am so fucking sorry. I am such an idiot. No I’m sorry. I’m sorry Jackie. But you’re an idiot to. you could have stopped him. why didn’t you just fucking tell him what was going on?”

“Because you’d never forgive me.”

“of COURSE I would. Seriously—”

“no you wouldn’t.” she says. “you know you wouldn’t.”

“I told you you could tell him.”

“not JULIAN. And you know that you just spit things out when you’re pissed. We wouldn’t have lasted as long as we did if I believed anything you said when you’re good and pissed.”

“oh fuck you” says annie. “but this is… no. listen to me. I mean how much more force would it have taken for him to kill you?”

She just sobs.

“Christ on a cracker. okay look you have to stop crying for a minute so they can look at you. what can I do?” she says directing it at molly.

“I have to see where the lacerations are. are you on any medications?”

“she takes a couple. A blood thinner and an antiarrhythmic. She’s got aFib.”

Molly looks at her seriously.

“hm. Well that would explain that. we should stop the bleeding first. I’m going to see where all it’s coming from.”

Molly runs through everything. “the bleeding’s already stopped it looks like.” She says. “we’ll clean you up, but let me check all your functioning. Look in the light.” She does as she’s told. She follows it. she has her pulse taken, and her heart listened to. she cleans the wounds to her face and head, and checks the hit to her stomach. 

“how are you feeling now?” says molly as she sits her back down.

“like I got my ass handed to me.” she says, jokingly.

“jack.”

“I feel sore. My head hurts a little. And I’m a bit tired. But mostly I’m just really upset.”

Molly nods. “if you start to get vision changes, your headache keeps getting worse, you really will need to go to the hospital. No delay on it. we can’t have just met you only to lose you after all.”

“aww.” Says annie. “you promise this kind girl that you’ll go to the hospital—”

“I promise I’ll go to the hospital if anyhead crap gets worse. Promise promise promise.”

“good good good.”

“take this for the pain.” She says giving her something. “drink lots of fluids and rest.”

“can I shower at least?” says julie.

“if you aren’t dizzy or unsteady.”

“I’ll make sure she’s fine.” says annie. molly looks at her curiously. “good. it’s good you have such a good friend.”

“yeah well, I owe her.” she says.

“oh please—”

“you know I fucking do.” She says. “why are there still lingerers?”

Julie scoffs. “be nice!”

“I’m sorry, but what? did bastard jack just tell me to be nice.”

“bonnie bitch.” She says kicking her a bit. “you don’t live her, so don’t boss people around .Sherlock does it more than enough for everyone. Thank you molly.”

“of course. I hope you feel better soon.”

She nods gently. “I should maybe not nod too much.”

“maybe.” she says. “take it easy. And don’t forget to ice that hand.”

“I thought you didn’t—oh right.” Says annie. “that was you. of course it was you, rockem sockem.”

she waves as they leave and once the door shuts she turns to julie, and then takes her phone and dials.

“what are you—”

_Julie?_

“no.” says annie. “but you’re coming to baker street. just you and right now.”

“what are you doing—”

“taking care of what needs.” She says. “right now. what’s the address again?”

“annie don’t. seriously.”

“it’s 221B.” he says.

“annie!”

_You must think I’m stup—_

“yes I do. You know what I just watches. I watched our Jack, OUR jack sobbing on the floor covered in blood you drew because you don’t know what your talking about. This ends now. get your ass here.”

_You know she basically threatened—_

“I am threatening you right now. step one, I will call our parents and tell them you went mad and beat Julia out of jealousy after you tried to break us up—”

_That’s not what,_

“two, I will call cal, who won’t CARE why you beat up our Jack. And three, when you finally manage to fall asleep, if your conscious will allow, I will set you on fire. ten minutes before I call.” She hangs up.

Julie sighs. “i can’t maybe recover a bit more before—”

“consider it ensuring you’ll actually get rest.”

She puts her head in her hands.

Sherlock sits down across from her.

“move your hands.” She says and sits down.

“oh for the love of—annie.”

She puts her hands around Julie. “I am so sorry.” she says but she looks at sherlock. “she says it isn’t my fault, but she’s wrong. it really is. she asked me if I’d explain a few things to you. For the record.” She says looking at Julie. “Julian may have been her best friend, but Jack has been mine. Which means she knows a lot of things about me. lots of things she said she’d never tell anyone. To explain our relationship would have required her to touch on some of those off topic things, and apparently you’re SOOO good, that even a hint of it would lead to complete understanding, which would be revealing what she promised she wouldn’t. The only solution then is for me to tell you myself.”

“why did you ask julian… you’re going to tell him.” she says.

“duh.” She says. “because this is bullshit.”

“no. this is rash.”

“don’t care. my prerogative. so I’m going to explain and I’m even going to answer questions.” She looks at Julie. “Julia. I’m sorry. you’ve always been good to me. and you’re right. I was being selfish. I’m sorry I hurt you. and I’m sorry…” she trails off. “when did I get so bad at listening?”

“that is a trap if I ever heard one.” says julie.

Annie smiles a bit, and puts her arms around her, hugging her carefully. Julie returns it far less gently though, hand to her hair. Annie pulls away and looks at her face. “you do know I love you right.”

Julie stills looking at her.

“I really love you. which means that I want you to be happy, and if you’re happy, that makes me happier. That kind of love. which for the record, is all kinds of love. and this.” she says. “that’s none of them.”

“it wasn’t for me. it was for you.” she says.

“…yeah, no. this is the definition of overkill. Now we have a flip to do.”

She looks at her.

“well, I may not be as smart as the two of you, but I’m not stupid. Go sit on his lap. That way he has to throw you to get to my brother. and I get the feeling sherlock knows better than to throw you unless it’s onto the bed to the sounds of laughter.”

Sherlock makes a surprised face.

“oh that’s a yes.”

“our sex life. don’t be rude. And also yes.” she says. she stands up and they flip. She tucks herself a bit.

“you know I’m not thrilled about you just deciding—”

“to encumber you. I’m keenly aware none of this has gone thrillingly, but I was very clear Julian should avoid you if he wanted to keep breathing, and I trust you to make your own choices. But annie’s right. There’s no reason I can’t make it a little harder. Do you have a gun in the house?”

He looks at her. “why?”

“so I recognize if you go for it.”

“I don’t need a gun to kill him.”

“nor do i.” she says. “and I realize if you do I’m sure it’ll go on for a bit—”

“jesus.” Says annie.

“even so.”

He whispers to her. _by the couch._

She nods.

 


	6. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annie calls her brother to Baker Street, both to answer for his behavior, but also to explain to her brother and Sherlock what's really been happening between her and Julie.

…

He comes in carefully. Looking around. Julian looks worn. Strung out.

“jill.” Says annie. “get a chair. Let me introduce you.” says annie.

He seems wary.

“those are chairs. they have four legs and a place to part your arse.”

“yes _thank you_ bellend.” He says.

“so, this is sherlock, Julia’s husband. You remember Julia, yes? she looks a bit different because someone tried to rearrange her face.”

He scoffs.

“you’ll have to excuse her hisband for not standing up. you see the lovely doctor who came by said she’s supposed to be laying down, but her arse is in better use staying planted on her husband so that he doesn’t get up and beat you to death. Best not shake the hand that may still kill you.”

“I like her.” says sherlock.

“mm.” says jack.

“we can discuss how much you might another time.” says annie.

Sherlock looks at Julie in surprise. julian looks angry.

“annie.” she says softly. “this is all well and good, but it’s still staling.”

Annie sighs. “I can’t have fun.”

“I’m tired.” She says.

“julian. You will recall that she said our relationship was a matter of convenience. And when I discovered that this is what prompted you to beat our Jackie.” She says sitting forward. “god I wish I had a drink.”

“cupboard—”  
she touches sherlock. “no.” she says softly.

Annie smiles gently. “it’d be too tempting for our girl after all.”

Sherlock looks at her.

“Julie and I are just friends.” Says annie. “really really good friends. And more. But we aren’t together. that’s not what’s been happening at all.”

Julian looks at her.

“I’m sorry, but that’s—”

“true.” says annie. “it’s so much more than that too. I mean, part of me is amazed you didn’t figure it out at least a little. I love Julia. And she loves me. we trust each other. we trust each other to be able to tell one another our secrets. Even if we’re mad. We don’t betray each other’s trust. that’s what this is. it’s trust. encouragement…. Safety. Acceptance. I remember when you said if she could love a man it would be you. obviously you were wrong.”

He grits his teeth.

“and don’t think for one second that I don’t know that some of what you did to her was because you weren’t who she wanted. Ever.”

“annie.” says julie.

“no. fuck him. I’m not stupid. And sherlock I’m sure can tell it’s true too. she never encouraged you.”

“that’s not—”

“oh fuck off that was almost twenty years ago, and she stopped so fast when she realized she could hurt you. and she didn’t need to tell me that because I saw it. I watched her tell you over and over that she was sorry but she didn’t feel that way about you. couldn’t. and your fragile male ego can’t take that she could pick someone else. Don’t think for a moment I don’t see you julian. I know exactly who you are.”

She sighs. “but the point, captain cockhead, is that if I could be IN LOVE with a woman, it would be julie. Absolutely. But my limit to the fluidness of sexuality, is her, and even then it’s got limits. But… what’s really been going on is that Julia is my sponsor.”

There’s a long moment. Sherlock’s hand grows strange against her.

“you’re what?”

“a sponsor.” Says sherlock, “is someone who is available as a confidant and mentor to those who identify as having an addiction, wither alcohol, narcotics, or some other proclivity, who are in the early part of endeavoring sobriety.”

“well put.” Says annie.

“he has a way.” she says.

“sponsors are those who have longer standing success then their sponsee. Often between two and five years, although it’s not an exact rule.” Adds sherlock.

Annie looks at him. “if you say so.” she says.

He looks confused.

“I’m sorry. are you saying that you’re—”

“yes julian. I’m an addict.” says annie. “jack’s been helping me stay clean. I hate those meetings. Those endless drivels of people whose brain is swiss cheese, mixed in with all the ones who are there because the courts say they have to. And every time I’ve been I get hit on. which makes me furious enough to break bones, upset enough to cry, and basically does more harm then good.”

“how… i…”

Sherlock looks at her closely.

“safety.”

“what?” says annie.

“you said safety. You paused at safety.” He leans a bit back.

She looks at him.

“Shit.” She says.

Sherlock’s face betrays understanding.

“I see.” he says.

“do you?” she says.

“how long have you been an addict?”

“i… well I think I might have already been one for a bit. Or close to. but I know I hit rock bottom a few years back.”

“annabelle.” Says julian. “i—”

“I wasn’t asking you.” says sherlock.

“what?” says annie.

“I’m not an addict sherlock.” says julie.

“alcoholic. Semantics.”

“because I don’t drink. I don’t drink the way I used to because vasodialators and blood thinner are a bad idea. I will have a drink if the occasion warrants it. a concussion is not one of those.”

“and brunch with my parents was not such an occasion?”

“it’s not a good idea to drink when one is nervous.” She says. “even good nervous. They tend to lead to more then one and my doctor was pretty clear I should do my best to limit it, at most to two.”

Sherlock tilts his head. “but you’re her sponsor.” She hears the slight emphasis.

“it didn’t start like that—”

“no I imagine I know exactly how it started.” He says. “but you’re a sponsor. To an addict.”

“no. I _was_ an unofficial sponsor to a very good friend.”

“it was my understanding that you absolutely could not be someone’s sponsor. Or did you just mean mine.”

Annie looks at her. “oh. oh shit.” Says annie. “you—”

“yes.” he says.

“I knew I couldn’t… wouldn’t…” she corrects. “from experience.”

He looks at her closely, searching.

“Do you remember I had been in a car accident?” she says.

“I’m not an addict, at least not that I know of. But it was not a good year. And the second was worse. And then the third rolled through and dad insisted I break the habit. But the habit broke. It was too easy, and that is a lot of false hope to look at. But it is not ‘I can quit anytime.’ It’s I quit. It’s once in a while I’d enjoy a joint. it’s that before you got shot I didn’t even take aspirin. Does that sound like an addict?”

“no. it does not.” He says.

She looks forward at annie. “thank you.”

“no.” says julian. “we’ve traveled together. I’ve seen you together. I’ve… heard you together.”

Annie looks at him. “okay first, gross. second, it’s none of your business, third, it’s not the point.”

“you’re telling me—”

  
“that when she said it was a convenient relationship, that was the most honest answer she could give you. she promised not to tell anyone about what I had been going through. When I say I’m an addict, I mean I am not joking. Not some dollface with amphetamine diet pill joke, or some rich snob with a coke habit, or some bored housewife who has grown to attached to a wineglass in her hand. I mean the reason I know what she takes is because I know it won’t get me high, and stealing it, trying to take enough to get an effect would leave Julie high and dry and could literally stop her heart to suddenly, unexpectedly be without. That’s why I know it. and because I googled it about a hundred times just to be absolutely sure I couldn’t get high off it, even after she told me. I mean she’s picked my puke covered body of the floor of some shithole that I don’t even remember going to, cleaned me off when I couldn’t stand on my own two feet. I tried meetings, but Jack was always there. shit half the time we were in countries where they don’t speak English. My French is fine, but the rest?”

“and the protection.” Says sherlock. she looks at him. “yes. she protected me. it’s not vanity to say I’m pretty. I am, and that’s not something people fail to notice. But for the same reason that you seemed to accept it so easily when you became sure jack was gay… it means other people accept I am. Strangers. And the strangers who don’t jack keeps away.” she looks at sherlock. Julie squeezes sherlock’s hand twice. He looks to Julie.

“we were affectionate.” She explains.

“affectionate.” He says.

Julian sits. “so.. it was a farce.”

“we never said we were actually together. we were careful not to. and we have covered for each other. it’s really too bad I’m not gay. I’m very popular apparently. we’d be great wingmen for each other. We… explored. But we don’t see each other that way. I know she doesn’t see me that way. I don’t think she ever could. There comes a time when cleaning the puke out of someone’s hair, the shit from between their legs…”

“annie.” says julie leaning forward. “that’s not—”

“no. don’t. because it is true. it’d be nice if we lived in such a tender world.”  
“for god’s—annie, jesus. Being a human being doesn’t make you any less… less anything. Christ.”

“why not?” she says.

“because it doesn’t. annie.” she says.

Annie looks at her sadly. “yes it—”  
“no it doesn’t!” she says viciously.

“there’s that fight.” Says annie smiling softly.

“no. you don’t get to pull that on me because I taught you that.”

Annie looks at her before she cries. Julie untucks. “stay.” She says softly.

“I’m not a dog.” Says sherlock.

“then she did badly. Every woman should mary a dog.” Says annie sassily.

She kneels before annie and touches he face. “there’s nothing wrong with you. I mean, yeah the addict thing sucks. it’s sucks and it’s hard. but you beat yourself up worse then anyone else that when someone tries to help you, or god forbid tell you something you don’t want to hear, you’ve already filled up your capacity in that department. So fucking quit it because you need to be able to handle an asskicking from someone other than yourself, and you need a different theme song because smooth criminal is tired.”

Julian laughs once.

“fuck—”

“that. is exactly what I’m talking about.” She says. “you have got to stop filling your ears with whatever voice is shouting in your head because it’s fucked your hearing. And you’re part of a music group. A group. You need your ears. And you feel like you need me because I seem to be the only one who is loud enough to still be heard, which makes sense. I can be very loud. But as much as you need your ears, that’s nothing compared to your eyes. I can make you listen, but I cannot make you see. I can only ask you to try. But look at me annie. really look.”

She looks.

“would I ever lie to you? yes I leave things out, and yes everyone gets a minimum of bullshit. but I wouldn’t lie to you. I try never to lie.”

Annie rolls her eyes.

“look at my face. Really look at it.”

She looks at it sadly.

“now look at this.” she says.

“I’ve been looking it—”

“but you haven’t been seeing. Look.” She says. “because you are absolutely right when you say that his ego played a role. I called him on it. I loved that you called him on it because we definitely didn’t coordinate that. I’m sure sherlock picked up on it.” she says looking. “but what you seem to not be hearing is that I got my ass handed to me because he believed I took advantage of you. even a little. So we can all focus on the fact that he would do this TO me, or we can focus on that he would do this for you. he’d beat up his friend of twenty years because I implied I treated you with even a little disrespect. That I wasn;t there for you as I had pretended to be, and that he was going to make me regret it because he has your back.”

Annie seems to understand.

“you---”

“I what?”

“you knew this would happen. You always have to get what you want.”

“no annie. I ride the wave, and try my best to accept when it doesn’t go the way I want, and try to adapt the course to see if the new one could be better. but I do know what I want, and I put it in the universe. And what I want for you is everything. and I can’t be everything. especially when we both know how gay you can be, which is not. And even if you were, i’m a married woman.” she says winking, and getting a laugh. “and even if weren’t, a person can’t be everything for someone else.”

“I hate you.”

“no you don’t.” she says. “you looove me.”

She kicks her a little.

“fine. but does it have to be—”

“it doesn’t have to be anything. I’m not the boss of you.”

“you know she does that to get you to realize you should do what she wants you to.” says annie.  
“oh I know. it’s how she got me to marry her.” says sherlock.

“how I got YOU to marry ME?” says julie. “absolutely not. You proposed.”

Sherlock smiles. “I did.” he says. “but it was still that move.”

“still works too.” she says.

“you haven’t had enough opportunity to wear it out.” he says looking up at her, opening his arm to her. she smiles at him. “a moment.” She says sitting down as he grazes the tattoo. She looks at him warmly. “I’m surprised you knew that it was a move.”

“of course I did. it’s me.” he says.

“then I’m even more surprised it worked.” she says.

“it worked because I allowed it to.” he says.

“is that so?” she says, her eyes, softening. “well I suppose it’s very clear that I didn’t get you to do anything you didn’t want to after all.”

“you say that like you’re implying something else.”

“I wouldn’t dare. I find the idea of you doing something purely because I want you to repellent.”

“I seem to recall you are in the position you’re in to keep me from doing what I want.” he says with some sinister-ness. Julian, who was looking at them angrily before, changes expression.

“because you won’t have to.” she says.

“julia.” Says julian.

“oh be calm.” She says looking up. she points to the cigarettes and sherlock hands them to her as she pulls one out he pulls a lighter from his coat and flips it open, lighting it immediately. She leans in and inhales before he closes the lighter and she stands up walking past them to get a chair from the kitchen, while speaking. “there are two features of interest from our conversation.” She sets it down sideways, sitting with one arm over the back of the chair, a leg crossed. “this is the same conversation as it was before, only with more complete information. Point one is that I have been married for some time to this man. The only people who know this information are those I feel I am close to, and who I value continuing be close to, because it is a private matter. That in fact, it would have remained private, except that we’ve decided to make a change we both seem to be happy about. I know I am.” She sucks in smoke, before saying. “I reiterate. I am happy. it is my expectation that my friends will be happy for me, or they aren’t really my friends.”

She looks at him closely.

“the second feature of interest is that you and I seem to be at odds over exactly the same thing. That we both are endeavoring to be a protective presence for your sister, who we both love very much and want to see happy, healthy, and well, while still of course understanding there is no one more in charge of her then her. There is no one more in charge of you then you, no one more in charge of me then me. I could… would not, in good conscious fail to keep her confidence or break my word to keep what she wishes between us. Except that I married a man who can see what isn’t said. So this conversation had to come from her. This is what she was angry about, because I had to be clear sherlock would know whether I tried to keep my promise or not, and that the only way I could keep my promise would be if she herself told him. You were shouting that I used her. That is what most of this was. I can’t blame you for doing what you did, when it appeared that was the case. And I would do the same. So I’m not angry for getting my ass handed to me. Because although I will always be protective of annie, more so then others, I cannot be her protector. I can’t do it anymore, because I wasn’t doing a very good job of it to begin with. Everything can’t be one person.” she says to annie. annie’s curled closer, and she reaches a hand out, taking hers. “when your thoughts are always screaming bonnie, it means I can hear them.”

Annie laughs once, tearfully, but shakes her head. “I can’t.” she says before sobbing. “I can’t—”

She pulls her hand away which seems to shock annie. sherlock watches the exchange.

“fascinating.” He says.

They both look up at him.

Annie looks at him. “I’m sorry?” she says.

Sherlock seems to look at her for a moment before leaning forward. “annabelle.”

She looks at him confused.

“julie has put it very well. Seeing things that aren’t said.”

Annabelle looks at him disappointed, before looking angry. “and you’re response to it is ‘fascinating?’” she says incredulously. “she said you weren’t the most sensitive but what the hell—what the hell is wrong with you—”

“hey!” says julie loudly. “put that back in the holster. It’s not what he meant.”

“oh really.”

“of course not. Obviously I don’t find you fascinating.”

“excuse me?” she says.

He stands up. “well I guess all my questions are answered—” says sherlock, making to get up.

“sit down.” says julie. “I’m not done being fascinating.”

He looks at her surprised but sits back.

“because you’re going to make me say it.” she says.

She scoffs. “annie if I could make you do anything—”

“no!” she says standing up. “you’re full of shit.” She says.

“I want you to think about the fact that you fell like I let you down.” she says. “think about it. and think about the fact that you have no one else and that you’re alone. And then think about whose choice that is.” says julie. “and you can stop getting mad at me for being exactly the kind of person I have always been, because deep down I think we both know what I am to you, and that is an excuse.”

“I’m not doing this—”

She says.

“Sit. Down.” says julie.

“no. fuck—”

“fuck you.” says julie standing up. “I am not an excuse. How dare YOU try to reduce me to that. I don’t see the asskicking I saw as your fault, but believe it or not I have every right to be pissed at you. I do not excuse you for being so unfair. I do not excuse you for storming off when you know good and well I am right, and especially for kicking and screaming every time you don’t like the truth. I don’t excuse you for using a disagreement with me as an excuse to get fucked up. I am not DONE.” She says standing up. “we were apart for forty minutes, and in that time you spent every dollar you had to some random dealer on the street, so that you couldn’t even afford the cab ride here. I do not excuse you for telling me you need me, but if I say the same, your need to get high trumps it. and I do NOT EXCUSE YOU for ignorming the warning that there was a cop in this apartment, lying to me, and bringing your drugs into MY home.”

They all look at her.

“i—”

“and.” She says taking a moment. “I do not excuse YOU for hitting me. Sherlock thought because I didn’t hit julian that I was helpless. Not hitting Julian was a choice. He thought I used you. I wasn’t about to punish him for the fact that you painted that picture, and refused to give me any way of explaining to him what was—”

“I told you you could tell him.”

“you told me I could tell SHERLOCK. not julian. And you made me swear, above all, I would never tell julian. And what did I say when I made this promise to you?”

She blinks. “i..”

“I said, ‘this is yours to tell, and I will never take that away from you. even if you didn’t make me promise.’”

Annie’s eyes well up.

“I do not excuse you for trying to imply I would go against that statement. I wouldn’t. not ever. But you are using me as an excuse, because you want to force me into being the only one you can turn to, knowing attaching sobriety to a person other than yourself won’t work, and knowing I can’t protect you, so you can excuse yourself for going home and consuming what you’ve got in your pocket. So you can rationalize it as betrayal. I do not excuse you for that.

And I do not excuse you for trying to make it true. that I would force you to do anything you didn’t decide to do yourself. Because then you get to believe you aren’t control. but you are. Can’t is a lie. You can. you should. If you will or not isn’t up to me. I committed to help keep you safe, but not comfortable. You took advantage of who I am to do that. and then you hit me for fighting against it.”

Annie’s face goes white as a sheet before flushing.

“if the next words out of your mouth are how dare you, you can leave. I won’t stop you, but you won’t get to blame me for the choices you make, because I’m not your fucking excuse anymore. I do not excuse it, and I am not your excuse for it. you owe me an apology and you know exactly how you can apologize.”

She cries. “please.” she says.

Julie reaches for her again.

“I…” she starts.

Julie nods. She takes a deep breath. Julie leans forward and whispers. “the longer you delay telling jude, the longer sherlock has known this before him.”

Annie looks at sherlock. “do you know?”

“don’t!” says julie. “be very careful. just yes or no” she says.

“know what?” says julian.

“yes. I do.” Says sherlock.

She cries. “Oh god damn it.” she says. “you gave—”

“he knew when he said interesting.” Says julie. “and you know he did because that’s what made you so angry.”

“wait, knew WHAT? is there more?”

“obviously.” says annie. she takes a deep breath. “julian. Something… happened.”

He is still looking at her.

“you don’t have to say a lot.” Says julie.

She nods. “I.. someone… they went too far. Way way too far.”

Julian looks at her, his expression pained, firm, and concerned.

“are you saying what I think your saying.”

She nods.

“you were…”

“raped?” says annie, sounding unsure and obviously hating the word. She nods.

“whu… when? Who?”

“I don’t know who. It was several years ago. the first time it happened.”

“the… WHAT?”

“well getting fucked out of your mind doesn’t really help you stay away from those kinds of people. it happened before I asked if I could come with you guys. And then at the end of that tour, Julie found me after. He was long gone by then. I told her I had a problem and I couldn’t live like that anymore. and she said…”

“trying to kill yourself isn’t not living like that anymore. not living like that is not living like that anymore.”

Annie and Julian talk for several long moments. Tears are shed, hugs are given. Julian says repeatedly, “you could have told me.” and “I wished you had said something.” And “of course I don’t think less of you.” and, most of all he asks, “Why?”

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“why didn’t you let me help?”

“why?”

Sherlock and Julie watch as they discuss. She mimes to him to make tea and he rolls his eyes but obliges, puttering about in the kitchen which distracts them.

“oh.” says julian.

“Annabelle? Julian?” he asks. “how do you take your tea?”

They answer and accept cups, Julie smiling once at them.

“so.. are you done being fascinating?” says sherlock.

“no. technically I’m never done, but there are intermissions. But for tonight, no.”

“is there more?” says sherlock. “because this has been all well and good but—”

“hold darling.” She says. “at the very least for the goodbyes. But I do have something to bring up for the montcrieffs.”

“more?” says julian.

“well, it’s a bit fuzzy of course since the world was tilting and I was seeing red, but I seem to recall telling the rest of the boys I had slept with someone else and otherwise implied that annie and I were over due to infidelity.”

“you what?” says annie.

“what else could I have said? you saw what I looked like. And if Julian wasn’t going to get beaten down—” she pauses. “shit cal too actually. I have no idea what he knows or not at this point. It’s probably a good thing he’s working. Anyway, now that everybody in this room is basically up to speed on myself and annie—”

“what do you mean by basically?”

“as in if you want to know about what fooling around did happen because it wasn’t all fake, I’m sure we can talk about that without issue. I’m pretty sure it isn’t part of the umbrella secret, it’s just a very strange thing to discuss in front of her brother. and I don’t particularly want to watch his reaction to any of that, so if annie decides to fill him in, I intend not to be in the room for that.”

Annie nods. “yeah, I think that’s all the detail he needs. I guess you do need to tell the hubs about it.”

She shrugs. “eh? But, as I was saying, now that we are all up to speed, are there going to be others brought up to speed?”

“on which matter?” says sherlock.

“good point. As for sherlock and myself, it’s not my intention to tell anyone else. So on my side, only the two of you, Cal, and my dad. And eventually the rosamundes. Maybe. I’m actually still weighing it.”

“you don’t want to tell the others?” says annie.

“not really. our relationships aren’t really close. I like them and all, but I’m sure they won’t care if they ‘find out’ which is kind of a good indication of if they need to be told in the first place.”

“I suppose I didn’t need to tell Lestrade then.” says sherlock.

“yes you did. He comes to the flat.” she quips.

“so do clients.”

“yeah he comes more often. And I like him. he seems like he’d be fun.”

“based on what?” says sherlock laughing a bit. “his reaction to your bleeding head coming though the doorway.”

“a bit, yes. and I think he would be upset if he had been left out. so no, I don’t think I’ll tell the others. Or… maybe I’ll tell smith. but he can’t keep a secret worth a damn. But I suppose given your feelings it might be good for you to have someone to discuss it with.” she says looking at julian.

“i’m not a heartbroken teenage girl, jesus. It was just a shock.” Says julian.

“good. then I’ll tell smith when I good and feel like it. he’s your friend. I mostly just tolerate him. but on the matter of annie and myself…”

“you want me to tell MORE people?”

“are you actually asking me?” she says. “because, yes. obviously I do.”

“I can’t—”

“I don’t mean that part. annie, I don’t think they’d even be surprised. They were there for when it was escalating. And there’s something kind of disarming. ‘she wasn’t my girlfriend. She was my sponsor.’

“disarming until the questions come.” Says julian.

“annie, you are free to tell the boys what we have and haven’t done together if you so choose. It’s not really a big deal to me. just as long as they know we weren’t in a relationship to begin with.”

Annie thinks for a minute, before sighing. “but I really have to tell them about being… you know.”

“an addict.” says sherlock.

“yes, THANK you.” annie retorts rolling her eyes.

“if I can weigh in.” he says.

“can we stop you?” says annie.

“in his home? no.”

“you yelled at me for calling it mine.”

“different context.” She says. “do you have some thoughts?”

“thoughts.” He says. “you really are careful, aren’t you?” says sherlock.

She smiles. “I am.”

“of thoughts I have many. But I also have advice.” Says sherlock. “Annabelle, it’s largely a positive experience to admit addiction to those around you. Those whom you spend the most time with can be an invaluable resource in keeping sobriety, and, besides them annoyingly asking if youre okay or slipping constantly, they can also be helpful.”

“whatever.” says annie.

“in fact.” Says sherlock. “if it reaches a point where such questions are a hinderance, even that can be managed with proper communication. The communication is really what makes or breaks it, but hiding and white knuckling is rarely if ever effective.”

“and you’re an expert on it are you?” she says.

“I’m an expert on many things. sobriety perhaps not truly. I’ve only been clean for eight months at this point, but I doubt I’d have made it that long without those around me. Not that they weren’t immensely irritating, but they at least provided some diversions. And having those around you know can vastly improve accountability.”

Annie blinks at him.

“eight… oh. OH,”

“yes.” says julie. “it’s a term for my living here that he be clean, and that I not act as his sponsor. Support of course, but definitely and emphatically _not_ a sponsor type, latch and attach affiliation. You should never have someone act as a sponsor who you can be romantically involved with anyway and we are the definition of romantically involved. and of course, my availability is volatile with schedules and commitments. Etc etc.” she says. “I had seriously considered telling him that our relationship might upset him, but not for the ways he might assume. Although I suppose it would be fair to feel we have been too affectionately attached.” She shrugs. “it’s good advice though. and kind of the point I was making. All those boys would be a protective entourage if you were the type to accept such a thing. and smith, despite being an ass, would jump at the opportunity to be of use to you.”

She scoffs. “fucknig smith. the very definition of spoiled.”

“what better way for him to learn that hard life touches everyone. it’s not something you need to broadcast, but it’s a lot easier to stay clean if people know that’s what you’re trying to do. The resistance to telling people is so that you know you can get away with sneaking it. it’s not supposed to be easy to fail and hard to succeed. It will always be hard to succeed, but the best way is to make failure harder. You have to be uncomfortable, because it’s not easy. And you are the worst kind of addict annie. because you’re addicted to escaping, and will take anything and do anything to escape. It’s going to kill you if you let it.”

“I feel like this is an intervention.”

“good.” says julie.

Annie furrows her brow before sighing.

“and annie… you can’t expect people to save your life if you don’t tell people where you are, and make them drag you out of danger only for you to claw your way right back. We can’t save you from yourself, unless we lock you in tower, and none of us would actually do that. you will always have the ability to claw back to danger. You will always have the ability to murder yourself. Slowly, quickly, you have that power. you have to decide not to, but it makes it easier if there are people who you will LISTEN to, who also KNOW and who will help you if you ask for it.”

“why does it have to be on me to fix—”

“because it’s your problem.” She says. “if you don’t tell the boys, they’ll go on thinking we broke up because I cheated on you. If that doesn’t get corrected by you, you are deciding they probably won’t be in my life, and that would be a bit sad, but they are my friend’s friends anyway so it’s not some big tragedy.”

“but you still want me to fix it.”

“I do.” She says. “life’s ugly enough already without manufactured ugly. and I mean, really? I have to be the villain?”

“you are a bastard.” She says. “but I see your point. Okay… I guess… I have things to tell the boys. Will you be there?” she asks.

“me or julian?” she asks.

“I… oh.” she says.

“i’d like to be there.” says julian.

“yeah. that would be good. but Julie?”

“no. I won’t. for one, I’m supposed to rest. I have a concussion.” She says.

“do you really have a concussion?” says julian.

“of course she does.” Says sherlock. “you put her through a wall.”

She nods. “I’m okay.” she says standing up.

“I am sorry Julia.”

“I know.” she says. “i… I just wish you’d been a bit…”

“I’m so sorry Julia. Really. I should have been. I’m really… I can’t believe I did that to you. and it wasn’t even—I feel so so sorry.”

She kneels down in front of him and takes his hands. “listen. I am more hurt then I care to admit that you’d raise a hand to me. as a girl who routinely picks fights with much bigger men for sport you’d think I wouldn’t have such ideas that a man shouldn’t hit a woman, especially a man who is a friend. and it isn’t the first time we’ve had a fight. We fought as school children all the time. jesus I taught you how to fight. But I think I will forgive you very soon. Twenty years of friendship isn’t something I take throwing away lightly.” She stands. “actually I have something for you.” she says walking over to the couch. she opens the drawer of the couch side table. Sherlock sits up.

“julie.” He says.

“yes?” she says as the sound of things being shuffled. “hold on. one moment.” She says and then they hear the sound of a latch opening, the sound of a magazine sliding into a gun with a click. Everyone stands up.

“what the fuck. is that – you asked him where he kept the gun for—”

“shut. The fuck. up.” says julie. “sit down. everyone.”

“what are you doing?” says sherlock.

“retribution.” She says. “I said I’d forgive him. now I’m ensuring I can.”

Sherlock moves to the side.

“sit down annie.” she says. “jude.”

She cocks the gun. “sit or I fire.”

“you wouldn’t—”

“you wouldn’t hit me. that’s what I thought. Maybe we should both not assume what the other would or wouldn’t do.” S

Annie starts pleading.

Julie takes a foot and tips the chair julian is on its back, drags her friend by the collar and pushes him against the wall. and shoves the gun in his mouth, triggering the safety.

“you thought I used annie, so you beat me. you said if I acted like a dog, you’d beat me like one. but I wasn’t raised to beat dangerous dogs. I was raised that a no good dog gets a bullet to the head.”

“i—jesus Julia for god’s sake.”

 you used me to put a hole in a wall. If you ever touch me in a way I find remotely threatening, I will put my own hole, right through your brain. that’s a promise. And you know I go to extraordinary lengths never to break a promise.”

She pulls the gun from his mouth and pulls the slide back, the bullet popping from the chamber which she catches. “to remind you.” she says handing it to him. she shuts his hand around it. she turns, flips the gun and pistol whips him in the head. he crashes to the ground, and groans, as she sets the gun down on the table and lifts annie. she pulls the drugs from her pockets and puts them in her face. “don’t ever come through that door with anything harder than an aspirin, and don’t even touch the nob until you’ve been to a meeting and have a chip to prove it.” she puts the drugs back in her hands. “you brought them in, you take them out. do me a favor and don’t help julian home. he should know the joys of finding your way through the city with a concussion. You both know what you should do. Don’t ask me to forgive you if you haven’t earned it again.” she takes a cigarette from her pack and sits down in john’s chair, lighting it with the lighter she took of annie. she lights it and sucks it “and be grateful it was me who had the gun in hand and not my husband.” She relaxes deeper into the chair, her tone calm. “I’m sure you’ll tell me you’ve earned it tomorrow, but for now, get the fuck out of our house.”

She waves goodbye, and returns to her tea.

“you aren’t concerned that would—”

“He put me through a wall. I was never going to shoot him, but he very well could have killed me. A threat to my life deserves a threat back. He was never going to get off for that scotch free.”

“I seem to recall you asked about the presence of firearms to ensure I wouldn’t use it.”

“the word ‘if’ is a truly incredible device.”

His eyes search her for a moment remembering.

“fascinating.”

“glad you stayed?” she says.

He shrugs. “bit heavy handed for my taste.” He says, before smiling.

 

 

 


	7. Cases

## Chapter: Cases

John checks his phone again outside the door, looking at the conversation from earlier that morning as thunder rolls overhead. The sky had brightened only a little. Fall in England is often dark, with only a few ours of sunshine and today’s light seem to be under threat by the dark rolling clouds whooshing toward him.

SENT: Is Julie doing any better?

RECEIVED: Better than what?

SENT: Concussion??? Something about being put through a wall???

RECEIVED: You mean are her injuries doing any better then.

RECEIVED: I suppose.

SENT: I’d like to take a look at her myself. I’ll come by and check on her later this morning.

RECEIVED: Well, considering it’s Monday, you’d be coming by regardless.

SENT: See you soon.

RECEIVED: That’s redundant and unnecessary.

SENT: Which part?

RECEIVED: And a bit trivial.

RECEIVED: This whole exchange.

SENT: You could say thank you

RECEIVED: For what?

SENT: nvm. See you soon.

John debates with himself outside the door, but the rain begins to fall, and he opens the door. Mrs hudson peeks around the corner.

“Hi Mrs Hudson. Good Morning. Are… Are they up?” he says.

“I believe so. I was about to go up with some tea. You go on ahead and I’ll bring a cup for you as well.”

 

John goes up the stairs but lingers in the empty sitting room by the door. His hands are tense at his thighs, running fingers across his thumb, his coat still on. John takes slow, careful steps towards the kitchen.

“Why are you tiptoeing?” Says sherlock, startling him before he gets to the doorway.

“What?” says john softly coming in through the kitchen quietly. Sherlock is fiddling with something on the table among the science equipment spread there. John, of course has learned well that he shouldn’t ask what exactly an experiment is unless he’s prepared to hear the answer.

“You. You’re behaving strangely.” Says sherlock, not looking up from the microscope.

“Well, I don’t want to wake Julie.” Says john quietly.

“aren’t you here for the express purpose of checking on her?” says sherlock turning toward him.

“well yes, but not if she’s…”  


“what?” says sherlock.

“well if she’s asleep.”

Sherlock tilts his head at him, narrowing his eyes a bit.

“you’ve never checked on a sleeping patient?” he asks.

John lets out an exasperated sound. “yes, in hospital beds.”

“so, what, safety bars are required?” says sherlock, turning back to the microscope. “a bed is a bed. You know the way.”

“sherlock, you know good and well it’s different if it’s your bed.” says John. “I’m not going to just walk in the room when she’s sleeping.”

Sherlock turns back again. “why?”

“because she’s asleep in your bed.”

“yes. and?”

“and… do I have to spell it—she might not be…”

Sherlock raises his eyebrows.

“dressed.” Finishes John.

“oh for the love of—JULIE!” he calls loudly.

“ _SHERLOCK.”_ whispers John harshly.

There’s no noise from the bedroom.

“that should have woken her.” says sherlock. Sherlock’s brows come together, and he goes to the door, and opens it a few inches. Her face suddenly appears in the gap and she swings it open as she jumps forward, completing her effort to startle him by yelling “BOO!”

Sherlock gasps and steps back, catching his breath. “really?!” he says. “what are you, five?”

John turns suppressing a laugh as she walks the few steps to the kitchen, making a beeline for the counters.

“no. I know I’ve been around for at least thirty some years. You’re in the way.”

“I’m in the—” he says as she pushes him slightly out of the way and skips down the hall to the kitchen. “is that my shirt?

“good morning John.”

“good morning.” he says back, the awkwardness returning, which he tries to mask by playing the role of doctor. “how are you feeling?”

“fairly well.” She says turning.

“jesus!” John says looking at her face.

“what? have I got—oh. right. Duh.” She says, touching her face a bit. A bruise blooms from jaw to cheek. Where her lip split, the scab has formed slashes on one side. The hand that moves up has bruised and somewhat scabbed knuckles as well. She has small scratches across her face. She has her hair braided on one side and wears squared style glasses. She has on faded jeans and a lightly stripped button down shirt that hangs to about halfway past her back pockets. There’s a clip at the back to bring it in a little at the waist.

“You should see the ones on her back. And the one to her stomach. what have you done to my shirt?” he says.

“utilized it?” she says looking at him like he’s crazy.

“are you sure you’re okay? what the hell happened?” says john.

She sighs. “broad strokes: a misunderstanding. And yes I’m fine. Is there coffee?”

“if you spill coffee on my shirt...” Says sherlock.

“then what?” she says. “or do I need to spill on it to experiment for what the end of that sentence could be?”

“Just don’t. I like that shirt.” Says sherlock.

“you like all your shirts. If I mess it up I’ll buy you a new one. And since this isn’t one of a kind, I can follow through on it.” she sticks her tongue out before moving to make coffee, but turning, at the sound of Mrs Hudson knocking at the door.

“yoohoo. Good Morning.” says Mrs Hudson caring a tea tray.

“Mrs Hudson. Here, let me.” she says taking the tray.

“oh no dear please. After what you’ve been through—”

She still takes the tray from her and leads it to the table. “Mrs Hudson, I’m not planning to carry it on my head. Although I will acknowledge it’s very unfortunate that of the men in this room I am the gentleman.”

“quippy. Always so quippy.” Says sherlock sarcastically walking over. “well go on.” he says gesturing to john.

“what?” says Julie turning

“not you. John. you said you wanted to check on her.” says sherlock.

“oh.” says julie. “More so then just to ask how I feel?”

“More specifically.” Says John. “How did you sleep?”

She shrugs.

“Did you sleep?” says John.

“no, I did. It was just getting there. Are we running through questions? My head hurts, but it’s not a headache. I’m not dizzy or nauseated in anyway.” She talks as she moves to her jacket, putting it over her shoulder. The belt clasp at the waist bounces of her shoulder. “ow.” She says, before shaking her head and laughing herself a bit. “it’s really the shoulder that bothers me Dr Watson.” She moves back through the room, with a round compact container which she flips open one and the other before shutting it and tossing pills into her mouth, swallowing and making a face. “blugh. Oh! wait, no that’s weird.” She says.

“yes, that was weird.” Says sherlock. she rolls her eyes.

“for that, I’m not fixing your cup. John, how do you take it. wait no. let me guess. Milk, but not sugar.” She says.

“i… yes.” he says tilting her head.

“mrs hudson?” she says.

“me?” says mrs hudson surprised.

“there isn’t another Mrs Hudson here. How do you take it?”

“I… well I take it with just a touch of sugar.” She says. “but I was just stopping by to bring you some and say good morning.”

“Oh. That’s nice of you. Are you sure?”

“oh yes love, but aren’t you a dear.”

“no. she isn’t. Don’t let her trick you into thinking she is.” says sherlock.

Julie pours tea for herself and John, before turning. “wait. Mrs Hudson. Do you do this every morning?”

“It’s become a bit of a habit.” Says mrs hudson.

“because he isn’t spoiled enough already?” says Julie incredulously.

“spoiled? _Me? I’m_ spoiled?” says sherlock.

“yes.” say both Julie and john, as mrs Hudson says, “a bit.”

“that’s very rude.” Says sherlock opening his laptop.

“yes, you’re that as well.” Says Julie.

John lets out a short laugh. He inhales rolling his eyes before making an exasperated noise.

“the shoulder?” says John.

“what is the term? Repetitive Injury?” she says. “The head looked worse then it was. He’d already cracked it.”

“Do you want me to take a look at it?” he says.

“if you like.” She says. She starts unbuttoning the shirt.

“wait, I—uh…” says John.

“problem?” she says continuing to unbutton.

“Dear, maybe changing into something—”

“why? I’d have to take that off too.” she says opening the shirt as john looks away.

“Julieee.” Says sherlock warningly.

“what?” she says putting the shirt over the back of the chair. She wears a gray t-shirt bra underneath. “oh, for god’s sake. Dr Watson.” She says. “you asked to look.”

“not like—” he says. “not in the middle of the sitting room.”

“well escorting you to the bedroom to take my top off seems very inappropriate. Dr Watson, I’m surprised at you. I’m a married woman.” she says.

Sherlock snorts out a laugh.

John looks at her startled. “That’s not what I meant.” He says.

“or technically it is.” she says, but his eyes have moved to her stomach and he stands up. “that…”

“what?” she says looking.

He feels her stomach.

“if you ask me if that hurts I might smack you.”

“no, I’m feeling to see if it’s firm. That’s a lot of purple.”

“it’s a bruise.”

“even for a bruise. Even for one from a fight. Whoever hit you did so with a considerable amount of force.”

“that’s what I forgot.” She says.

“you forgot he hit you in the stomach?” asks John. “do you have mem—”

“no. I mean I forgot to punch him in the stomach before pistol whipping him. Damn.” She says.

John looks up at her startled. “there was a _gun_ involved? what the _hell_ happened.”

“it was my gun.” Says sherlock.

“what?” says mrs Hudson. “but she—”

“hold.” Says Julie. “not important. If you say you think I’m bleeding internally I will freak out.” says Julie.

“you’ll freak—”

“how many times do I have to say I hate hospitals. I fucking hate them sherlock.” she says.

“are the shoulders worse?” says John

“I don’t know. I haven’t looked.”

“yes.” says sherlock. she spins and there is an audible gasp.

“is it magnificent?” she says.

“that’s one word for it.” says john.

“Sherlock says it looks like I’ve got wings. Bruises for angel wings. Does it really look like that?” she says.

“it looks like it hurts.” says John.

“always good when things are as they appear. ‘it’s not what it looks like’ is one of the most overutilized phras—The woman.” she says.

John freezes.

She laughs. “well we totally forgot to talk about that.” she says. “I really do like that moniker. Totally forgotten what she looks like though. Although I suppose if someone comes up and spits on my shoes I’ll realize.”

“you forgot what she looks like?” says sherlock.

“perhaps you can describe her to me, in great detail.”

“John can probably do a decent job. He’s seen her undressed as well.”

She turns to john. “really? you two—”

“no—NO!” he says pointing at her. “No. that’s not—no.” says john.

“what?” she says turning around.

“That’s not—”

“you said that already you know. Watson, I’m not going to be angry if you two had some kind of—”

“no!” says john emphatically. “it—”

“it was a case.” Says sherlock. “Miss _Addler,”_ he says with a tone of mild annoyance, “had some compromising photos of a certain person and we had been hired to retrieve them. Upon entering her home and being escorted to her sitting room by the maid, the woman appeared stark naked in an effort to make an impression.”

“with no intention of giving you the photographs, I assume.” She says.

“none at all.” says Sherlock.

“that sounds like a story indeed. I assume there’s much more detail. Is it on the blog?” she says.

“Just a mention. National Secrets act.” Says John.

“and when exactly did the moaning… moaning or sighing? Wait— _vocalizing._ When did your phone get vocal?”

“I allowed her to borrow my coat when it was clear John was uncomfortable. My phone was in the pocket. It seems she took the opportunity to display her… crude sense of humor.”

She tilts her head, before opening her eyes wide and saying ‘scandalous’ sarcastically. She rolls her eyes, but smiles. “sorry. I got distracted. You wanted to look at my shoulders…” she says turning around just as footsteps sound on the stairs.

Lestrade emerges and immediately seems to freeze and pale, his mouth open.

“hi.” She says, looking at him and pointing. “again, we seem to meet when I am vaguely compromised and being looked at by a doctor. Same injuries though. it’s Lestrade right?”

“uh… yeah. sorry should I—”

“you can put your shirt on Julie.” Says John.

“so, I’ll live?” she says turning around and Greg gasps. She looks over her shoulder. “is it really that shocking?”

“good god woman.”

“please don’t call me woman.” she says. “I have a name. many names. Pick one.” she’s gentle as she says it, but she looks at sherlock a bit, her eyes narrowed again. “will you take a picture, so I can see?”

Sherlock sighs, but pulls out his phone so she turns back again holding his shirt up to the front. “sorry Lestrade. Mrs Hudson is a lady and John a doctor, but I realize perhaps that was a bit of a sight.” She pauses. “and I realize you probably have very few answers on how to answer because ‘you bet your ass it is’ is highly inappropriate.”

Sherlock takes the picture as she talks before shaking his head. “yes ha-ha.” he says. she turns and crouches as she slides on the shirt looking over. “wow.” She says. “can you send it to me?” she says as she looks down buttoning her shirt, and he does so as she stands up.

 _AUGH!_ Cries her phone, in the pocket of her jeans, which happen to be right by his ear. He starts a bit and then looks at her in confusion.

“what was that?” he says.

“my phone vocalizes too.” she says, before losing her straight face and laughing.

He leans back looking at her before an incredulous laugh escapes, despite his effort to keep his composure.

“you planned that?” he says.

“I wish. I just ride the wave.” She says winking, as she buttons the last button. Sherlock catches her wrist and then pulls her hand toward him and kisses her palm, looking up at her from beneath his lashes. A gentle smile spreads across her lips, as she runs a thumb across his cheek as she pulls away.

The intimate moment surprises the group, but it leaves in a puff of smoke as Sherlock turns to Lestrade.

“Please tell me you are here because you have something for me.” he says leaning back to look at Lestrade.

She turns to Lestrade, whose face seems to crash a bit, the stress lines becoming prominent now that a distraction is no longer available.

Julie offs at the expression and gets a chair. “Here.” she says.

 


	8. The Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julie leads the boys to the crime scene, and leads them to learn more.

## Chapter: The Child

 

Greg sits down looking but seems unsure of how to begin. “We…” he begins, swallowing hard.

“Well, spit it out now.” Says sherlock, directing his gaze at the detective.

“What is it Greg?” says John.

“This isn’t a case for… it’s a bad one.” says Greg. “A really bad one. I don’t think I should talk about in front of—” he says gesturing to Mrs Hudson.

“I was just heading back downstairs. Julia, maybe you’d like to join me? Perhaps I can make you something to eat. You’re just skin and bones.”

“I…” she seems surprised by the invite. “Oh. I’m included in the not-talking-in-front-of?” she says to the boys.

“I don’t think you’d like to stay and listen to this one.” says Lestrade.

“why?” she says. “because I’m a girl?” she asks confrontationally, but reels back a bit at the expression on Greg’s face. “Sorry.” she says after a moment. “okay, I’m sorry. I’m—I’ll just go with you after all.” she says to Mrs Hudson. “Although you don’t have to feed me.”

“It’s no trouble.” Says Mrs Hudson. “Gives us a chance to get to know each other a bit better.”

The ladies make their way downstairs, Sherlock’s face curious at the sudden change to her demeanor and willingness to leave. “Well.”

“There’s been… a murder.” Says Lestrade.

Sherlock blinks at him. “I know it’s been slow for me, but I hadn’t realized it was slow for you as well. So, slow it seems that a murder would be a shock to a homicide detective.”

“Sherlock.” says John in a warning tone.

“It was a child.” Says Lestrade.

“oh god.” says John, a look of sadness on John’s face.

“A murdered child.” Says sherlock without much emotion. “and why do you need me?”

John turns to him surprised. “Sherlock.” says John.

“No. The child is the murderer.” Says Lestrade.

“I’m sorry. What?” says John.

“We have street footage. The man, Theodore Johnson walks into a building he owns to do some survey work. The child, a little boy, walks in two minutes later. He leaves after twenty-five minutes drenched in blood, knife in hand. He took all his clothes off on the stoop and then just walked away.”

“He just _walked away?”_ says sherlock.

“Like naked.”

“socks and briefs.”

“he took his shoes off too?” says John.

“Yes. Just walked to the main road and down to the subway station.”

“what did you say?” says sherlock.

“the subway station? We’ve looked at all the footage and the child doesn’t—”

“no. The name.” Says sherlock.

“We don’t know the child’s name.” says Lestrade.

“No, the murdered man.”

“oh… uh Johnson. Theodore Johnson.” Says Lestrade.

Sherlock puts a hand up. “Crime Scene photos?”

“they’re… not pretty.” Says Lestrade.

“Because murder scene photos are—” he trails off looking at the crime scene. He flips through quickly to the end, swallowing hard as he does so.

“I imagine your detectives are struggling to remain objective.” Says sherlock. “And the child.”

He hands the file to Sherlock, and Sherlock passes the first folder over. John opens the folder.

The top photo stops his blood cold. Whatever happened to the man, it caused the man’s skin to turn black. His intestines lay across the floor, several cavities across the body as if an animal had burrowed in and out. A gruesome rabbit’s warren. John shuts the folder, catching most of this only from a glance.

“oh god.” says John.

“No.” says sherlock. “The face. Look at the face.” Says sherlock.

“The face? Why?” says John, but he carefully opens the folder flipping to one of the face. The face is stiff, the tongue pressed to the top of the mouth. Bruises are around the throat, bloody handprints.

“We aren’t sure what the original cause of death was.” says Lestrade. “or how such as small child could have overpowered this man. Or why—”

John is looking at the photo, his brow furrows. “wait—” says john recognizing the man.

“JULIE!” calls sherlock standing up.

“what?” she calls.

“I AM SUMMONING YOU!” he calls. “UPSTAIRS.”

“You’re WHAT?” she says angrily.

“Now is NOT the TIME.” he says angrily, walking back to the folders and taking the folder.

“Sherlock—I really don’t think you should show—”

“Show me what?” says Julie.

“Who is Theodore Johnson?” says Sherlock.

“Sorry?” she says.

“Teddy.” he says.

“Teddy? I have no—why?” she says. “there’s no way he would kill someone if—”  
sherlock hands her the photo of his face. She stills and takes it. “Oh my god.” she says. “Oh teddy. No.” she says.

“I’m sorry. Did you know him?” says Lestrade.

“I did a little. What happened? or, I guess the fact that you have it means it’s a mystery.”

“beyond that he was murdered yes.” says sherlock taking the photo. “do you know this child?” says sherlock handing her the photo of the child, in his underwear.

“A child?” she says looking at the picture. “no, I don’t think I do. I don’t know very many children, and none that could be… what, about 8… maybe as old as ten if he’s been on the street long. Why is he… are those his clothes?” she says.

“yes.” says sherlock taking the photo.”

“wait, hold on. I don’t know the kid, but I might know the building. Is this off fifth?” she says.

“yeah.” says Lestrade.

“why was teddy there?” she says.

“what do you mean? he owns the building, according to Lestrade.”

“What? since when?” she says.

“Does it matter?” says sherlock. “it’s a loading and storage facility.”

“no. it isn’t.” She says. “I…” she looks around the room, her face pale, making her bruises stand out.

“Are you alright?” says John.

“no.” she says simply. “how long has he owned this building?”

“I don’t know.” says Lestrade.

“oh, for the love of—have you done any investigating yet?” she says irritated. “get your coat.” She says as she grabs her own and pulls her boots from the side of the couch where she’d haphazardly left them.

“Where are we going?” says John.

“you can’t come to the crime scene.” Says Lestrade.

“Lestrade is going to get all the information he can on the properties Ted owns—owned.” She says shaking her head. “and how long he’s own them and who he acquired them from. And Lestrade.” She says looking at him. “ _I_ can do whatever the hell _I_ want.” she says.

“It’s a closed crime scene. They won’t even let Sherlock in until it’s cleared.”

“I’m sorry? Did you think I was asking for permission?” she says, and as she moves she pulls the same gun from the night before.

Sherlock chuckles. “Julie, it’s very flattering you’re trying to come solve—”

She loads the magazine quickly and slides it in before handing it to sherlock, her expression is one he’s never seen before. “you’re taking it and your calling your whore.” She says, without any derision or contempt.

“my—Julie nothing happened.” he says.

She blinks. “really?” she says.

“yes really.” he says. “do you really think—”

“I know what you like, or so I assume. And after today, ‘nothing happened’ is not going to be the case. Call her. make an appointment.” She says still holding the gun out.

Sherlock blinks at her. “So I can shoot her?” he says.

She scoffs. “no. So she can steal it. She’s not smart enough to catch the tracer you’ve installed in the handle.”

He takes the gun unsure.

“I’d call her myself, but I don’t have a bed here yet, and I’m not in any condition to be able to get beat up _again._ Call her. Make an appointment. IF she won’t come here, don’t go to the Craighmore, the Loustien on sixth…” she pauses. “houses are a risk. Be extremely careful with that, and if you do a house, make sure she knows you don’t have long, and that you’ll have a cab driver outside promptly twenty-five minutes after you arrive. Only tell her this if it’s a house, otherwise do not indicate someone is expecting you.”

“Why?” he says.

“because she won’t murder you in your home, and she’s significantly less likely to murder you if—”

“she’s not going to try and murder me. You’re being redicul—”

“have you heard of the Corridor?” she asks him.

“the corridor as in a hallway?” he says.

“in one sense, yes, it is like a hallway, in that it is an aisle. Look we don’t have time for this. Lestrade, you will need to get that information, but first you’ll need doctors on standby. Inform whoever you need to that you’re expecting to need a lot of blankets.” She says turning and setting a locked train case on the table in front of her. She unlocks it quickly and sets a gun and a knife down next to the case on the table before pulling a bag of white-like powder slightly larger than a letter envelope and putting it in her jacket.”

“is that—”

“flour.” She says, and the lie sits in the air, like when a bell rings only to be silenced by an enclosed hand reducing the sound to a mechanical rattle. Like seeing a beautiful, ethereal actress suddenly no longer on the stage, but in the harsh light of day, how the makeup has cracked and run. The dirty underside of a polished car.

“that’s convincing.” Says sherlock sarcastically.

She pulls another and puts it in her other pocket.

“my scrabble partner is addicted to baking.” She says. “I’m stopping by on my way back. Are you going to call your whore or not—”

“she’s not _my_ whore. Why do you keep—”

“fine.” she says taking her phone and dialing. Her voice is clear again, “Cal. Hi. I know you’re sleeping. Listen though, do you remember Ted?”

“you can’t talk about—”

“he’s dead. I know, but I have an errand to do before I can think about it. I’m going to pay my condolences to his wife once I’m done with the errand though. I’m bringing flours.” She says. “will you let her know I’m coming by? But don’t tell her about ted yet… Just tell her I’ll be dropping in for a visit. I should be the one to tell her. Thanks. And I also need a favor. No, an actual one not just calling Ted’s wife. I need a bed delivered to baker street asap, because I’m sleeping on the couch now and leather on the face is no fun, minus the obvious joke because of time. Can you go see a friend of mine, Angela? She’s at this massage parlor called Eden. If you go to her and tell her I need a full bedroom set, including the bed and bedding. She can organize it but tell her to make sure the set is packed, and if she throws in extras that’s fine as long as she doesn’t think she can put the extras on my account too.”

There’s a long pause.

“yup. Text when you’ve got it delivered, and you’re free to nap in the bed after if you make it up but leave the unpacking for me. What? oh god yes, please, but there was some drama that’s not important at the moment. ‘kay. Love you too.” she says and hangs up.

“why would you need—”

“it’s not furniture.” she says to him. “have you got a crowbar?”

“on me, at this moment?” he asks incredulously.

“we’ll need one. Do you have them in the police vehicles?” she asks Lestrade.

“we do but—”

They make their way to the police tape as she puts on gloves and tucks her hair into a knitted cap, before ducking under without stopping.

“Julia!” says Lestrade.

“excuse me—”  
“you’re excused she says walking past.

“you can’t have people just walking through—you remember what the chief said.” says sally Donovan to Lestrade.

“get the fucking crowbar.” She says turning as she walks into the room. They follow and watch her stop, her breath intaking. “oh ted.” She says softly, shaking her head. her eyes burn with salt from tears that burn up into her lids. She looks up and takes a breath before looking again.

“shit.” She says.

“what.”

“we have to move him.”

“I’m sorry, WHAT?” says the forensic officer.

“He was rotated. Do you see?” she says to sherlock. he nods.

“we have to move him back. Just a little.” She says walking forward. “don’t make me do this by myself.” she says softly. They move and sherlock quickly puts gloves on and assists her rotate the body she’s already moving.

“you’re compromising the integrity of the crime scene.” Says sherlock. “why are you—”

She’s sliding a hand between two slits of concrete when suddenly her hand plunges between a crack that widens.

Sherlock stands up quickly. she makes a strangled noise, chocking back emotion, before swallowing. “silence.” She says. she pulls something. They just faintly hear the sound of metal scrapping.

“w—”

“shh.” She says. they listen…

And then they hear crying

 She whispers. “we’re going to need the crowbar. And we might get shot. But if we move quietly we’ll be luckier than if we don’t.” she’s stood up and wipes the blood off her arm and glove before setting it down where she pulled the lever.

She walks forward toward the sound of crying and sherlock and john follow behind.

The noise is coming from a crack in the door and she slides it open just enough to pass through, careful to use the hand that wasn’t covered in blood a moment earlier. She looks into the hole, which has no light emanating from it.

 _A fighting chance._ She thinks.

She pulls her phone and silences it, so the others do the same before she types.

**_It’s dark in there. There may be stairs. Walk carefully and keep a hand on the person in front._ **

They take hands in a chain and walk into the darkness.

 

 

 

The darkness is almost absolute, and the steps are steep. They walk slowly as they move, leaning back into the hand behind them as they move down, a hand to the wall. They listen for a moment and she squeezes sherlock’s hand twice, he repeats the gesture and she flips a light.

And suddenly, they are surrounded by the sound of screaming.


	9. Worse Than It Looks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprising and disturbing discovery is made, but this discovery leads suspicion to be cast on Mizz Dawson, and as the day progresses, more questions arise than answers as Julie engineers an odd encounter with Miss Addler.

## Chapter Nine: It’s Worse Than It Looks

They turn inside a concrete bunker, chains welded to the wall. There are women and children chained to the wall, gaunt looking and terrible, behind a barred door.

“STOP SCREAMING AND SHUT YOUR EYES!” screams Julie at them and they follow the order, whimpering, in an accent totally foreign to her, an impression of Germanic influence tilting and hardening her speaking.

The room they are in has a bed, hanging chains… tools. There’s the smell of human refuse, bile, and the metallic sweet smell of blood.

And a wall of cameras.

* * *

 

Women and children are slowly pulled from their chains and escorted up to blankets and doctors. Julie speaks to the women, but the police look on at her suspiciously. She stands. “I can’t do this.” she says, seeming disappointed with herself. The can’t sounds strange.

“Can’t do what?” says sherlock.

“Talk to them.” she says softly, before looking at Sally Donovan who is looking at her with equal parts suspicion, distain, and confusion.

“Can I fucking help you?” says Julie. “Oh wait. I did. So, unless you’re looking at me so hard because you want to proposition me, go do your job.”

Sally blinks at her.

“amateurs.” She says.

Sherlock smiles a little but looks at her seriously. “I’m sure she’s wondering how in the world you knew there would be people there, or how to find them. I’m wondering—”

“Are you?” she says irritated. “you don’t think I might, for some reason, be particularly interested in human trafficking?” she says irritated. “look, I’m not even sure that has anything to do with why Ted was killed. All I know is what you saw too. The body had been rotated. Obviously if the body were rotated, it wasn’t done by the child because he wouldn’t have been able to lift it off the ground. Whoever did it either for dramatic effect, or to cover something, and the latter would be something to do with the floor. I have to go deliver my condolences. Are you calling your whore, or am I?”

“stop calling her that.” says sherlock.

“well if I call her, she’ll be my whore. Or our whore, possibly.” She says before cringing a bit, and shuddering. “That’s gross. Why is that gross?” she says to herself. “look, I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“This is my case.” Says sherlock. “Julie, what the hell—”

“That building was a port for human trafficking years like fifteen years ago. There may actually be more cells like that one throughout. That sound we heard. That was a door locking up tighter than a safe, so there are probably worker bees on the other side. Or were. I’d bet they’ve escaped now. It’s been disused though or was when I was asking about it… or maybe it wasn’t. I would have never noticed that door, or the false seem unless there was something indicating there was something hidden…” she trails off. “that is weird.” She says turning to Sherlock. “would you have found that seem if it hadn’t been hidden under the body?”

He doesn’t answer.

“maybe it wasn’t to hide it at all, but to point it out. But I should go and console.” She says turning.

“Julia.” Says Lestrade. “I think you should probably come in for question—”

“fuck off.” she says walking away. “if you want to solve the case find out when Ted acquired the property because he definitely didn’t own it when I heard about it. It was police property, and Ted was definitely not a cop. And figure out why his skin turned black because I’ve never seen anything like that. You’re welcome, and again, fuck off.”

“you’re just going to let her leave?!” says Donovan.

“Sherlock has my number, but you aren’t my type!” she calls continuing down the walk in the drizzle, the sky darker then it was before as lightning races overhead.

“JULIE!” calls sherlock. “I can’t even—”

“Nope.” she calls.

“it’s my case.” Says sherlock sullenly.

“sherlock, do something.” Says Lestrade. “We can’t just let her walk away like that. I mean she’s got what I’m assuming is two bags of what looked a hell of a lot like cocaine.”

“heroin.” Says sherlock. “china white.”

“what?” says Lestrade. “she had—why does she—”

“or maybe it really is flour.” He says.

“Right.” Says Lestrade. “I’m sure she happens to keep flour packaged like that in a locked box. That makes total sense. and what did she mean about the human trafficking comment.”

Sherlock declines to answer.

* * *

 

Sherlock, John, and Lestrade are in 221B, Sherlock and Lestrade standing tense as John sits on the couch looking confused, but passive.

“Look Sherlock I know she’s your—” says Lestrade.

“In this case you know she’s my flatmate.” He says as steps sound on the stairs.

“It’s the room at the top of the stairs. Hi Mrs Hudson. I’m dropping things off for my sister. Apparently, her friends husband died or something. She’s providing emotional support. Oh hey.” He says stopping in the room. “wow, what is this tension? Is it sexual? Am I interrupting?” says Cal looking around.

“Julie’s put herself in a spot.” Says Sherlock.

“Who is this?” says Lestrade.

“Cal, Detective Inspector Lestrade. Lestrade, Julie’s brother Cal.”

“alright?” says Cal, putting a hand put. He’s got a duffel bag that clinks and looks to weigh a good amount. “What’s Julia done?”

“compromised a crime scene by discovering a secret cell holding several dozen women and children chained up and hidden away.”

“She… I’m sorry could you repeat all that?”

Sherlock repeats himself.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with Ted does it?” he says.

“Do you know Mr Johnson?” asks Lestrade.

“We all ran into him at brunch yesterday morning.”

“We all who?” says Lestrade.

Cal gestures broadly. “His parents, brother.” he waves about. “God damn this is heavy. I have a very strong inkling it’s got some really kinky gear. Hiya, thanks.” Says Cal tipping the men who brought the bed up. “I’ll set it up.” he turns back.

“Trafficking ring?” asks Cal seriously.

“Yes. How did you know that?” asks Lestrade. Cal looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Um, chained women and children. What the hell else would it be?”

“Then why did you ask?” says sherlock.

“Well, you know what they say about assuming.” Cal responds.

“And she opened a case and took out what appeared to be—”  
“flour.” Says both sherlock and Cal. “and she said she was seeing Ted’s husband to you too?”

“Yes. Offer condolences and console.”

Cal shrugs, thinking. “wait, so what’s the problem? She took some flour to a friend and she helped you find a bunch of victims. I don’t understand what the issue is. Do I need to call a lawyer on her behalf?”

“Does she have a lawyer?” asks Sherlock.

“Does the pope shit in the woods?” retorts Cal.

“no. I imagine not.” Says sherlock, taking him literally. “what does that—”

“Idiom. Yeah, she’s got a lawyer. Has since the divorce.”

“The—I’m sorry, WHAT?” says sherlock.

“Collette?” he says. “Did you not know—”

“They were MARRIED?” says sherlock.

Cal looks at him. “Oops?” says Cal. “I should stop talking probably. I’m going to take this upstairs and make the bed up. Wake me up if you need me.”

Sherlock blinks, as Cal dials. “Hi sis. First, do you need me to call your lawyer? Second, I done fucked up. Call me.”

Sherlock looks after him in stunned silence.

“Sherlock?” says Lestrade.

Sherlock turns and picks up the bag she brought and starts tossing stuff across the couch and the table.

“Sherlock.” says John.

He searches through setting the train case down on the table as he continues to sort through it. He investigates the lock and moves to pick it.

“Sherlock, if you open that, anything in it would also be considered in your possession.” says Lestrade. Sherlock throws the picks down in frustration and goes to the bedroom, dragging the other bag out and starts throwing what was inside that bag too. Her violin is on top, along with swords wrapped in a thick blanket. A suitcase is buried at the bottom.

“Sherlock, you really shouldn’t go through—”

Sherlock pops it open. Inside are haphazard documents. He pulls the m out and lays them across the floor, slowing. A birth certificates. Several birth certificates. Police records. Adoption forms. A photo of a little girl. Pages of notes. Sherlock takes the documents and spreads them across a wall.

“What is—”

“it’s her case.” Says sherlock. “In a suitcase. Of course.” he says rolling his eyes.

“What case…” John trails off. “oh.”

“What is it?” says Lestrade.

“Julianna Doe.” Says sherlock. “Now Julianna Rosamunde-Dawson, was passed between two human trafficking rings specializing, or at least involved in adoption fraud. These are the documents relating to the exchanges and…purchases.”

Sherlock stands before it before turning around and looking at the mess.

“Maybe I should just go.” Says Lestrade.

“it’s not related to her.” says sherlock.

“I’m sorry?” says Lestrade.

“That building. It isn’t related to her. Not according to her notes. It’s here.” says sherlock pointing. “someone with the initials CL…” sherlock says turning to a different page. “Laundry. With London PD. If you want to find out how she knew what that place was, you might start there.”

Lestrade nods once and leaves.

“Sherlock.” says John.

“I need… a meeting.” He says.

“a meeting.”

“a meeting.” Says sherlock turning, but he pauses. “would you like to come… with me?”

“am I allowed?” says John.

Sherlock shrugs. “I doubt anyone could stop you.”

“do you want me to?” asks john getting up.

Sherlock scoffs. “I invited you.” he says as if that answers the question. John realizes though, of course, that it does.

“Yeah. Alright. Should we just leave—”

“yes.” says sherlock walking back down the stairs.

* * *

 

They come back to the same mess and sit down in their respective chairs, when they hear distantly the sound of Cal’s phone ringing, and then muffled voices. Sherlock stands up and goes to the door, but Cal is already walking down on the phone.   
“I said something about Col—hi sherlock” says Cal stopping. “you know what, I’ll—”

They hear her open the door.

“you’ll what?” she calls heading upstairs.

“Uh.” Says Cal.

She stops and looks at the two boys. Sherlock in the doorway, and her brother on the staircase above her.

“if someone had a camera hanging from the ceiling, this would make a really cool photograph.”

Cal is still before he explodes. “What the FUCK happened to your face.”

“ow. Shouting.” She says. “It was a misunderstanding. I’m fine. it’s not as bad as it looks.” She says, walking up the stairs and coming to the doorway “you said you fucked up though, so what’s—"

She stops looking at the room.

“what in the world?” she says. “did you find what you were looking for?”

“no.” says sherlock.

“well if it was drugs, there aren’t any.”

“I’d believe you, but…” he says gesturing at her.

“cash is required up front almost universally among sex workers.” She says. “it’s for barter.”

“what’s he talking about? And I thought you were done paying for sex.” says Cal.

Sherlock’s face shows even more shock. “I’m sorry, WHAT?” says sherlock.

Cal looks even more guilty, and Julie peers at him. “I’m sorry. I missed something. What were you—”

“divorce.” says sherlock.

She turns to him. “I’m sorry but excuse you?”

“Divorce.” says sherlock.

She looks around the room, taking it in.

“I should probably go.” Says Cal.

She looks at sherlock shocked, before her jaw sets. “over my dead body.” She says.

“what?” says sherlock.

“I said until death and I meant—how DARE—WHAT THE FUCK?!” she shouts, intensity shooting through her. “what the hell did you DO?” she says to Cal.

“I—”

“I’m not ASKING for a divorce.” says sherlock.

“You don’t get to TELL me we’re divorcing—”

“Collette.” He says.

“what about Collette.”

“I’m talking about Collette.” He says.

She blinks. “what ABOUT Collette.”

“ABOUT the fact that you and Collette were married.”

“no, we weren’t.” she says looking at him confused.

“No? Because your brother said you’ve had a lawyer ever since the divorce with Collette.”

She looks at him and then seems to relax a bit, catching herself on the wall. “oh my god. That wasn’t. Collette and I have never been married.” She says. “it was COLLETTE’s divorce. He’s absolutely amazing and she paid him a retainer in advance should I ever require his services since I get into all kinds of situations. Jesus.” She says.

“I thought you and Collette were married.” Says Cal.

“god no.” she says. “I mean she asked. A few times. But no. I was never—is that why all my stuff is all over the living room?” she says.

“I…”

“and if you ever utter the word divorce again without clarifying what it is you mean… Jesus you almost gave me a heart attack.” She says rubbing her chest. “for fuck’s sake Cal.”

“I thought you and she were married. You were together for—”

“almost four years. Two of which SHE was married for.” She says. “Which I didn’t realize until about eight months in. But, that’s what happens when you’re barely eighteen and naïve. Can you go though. I have a whore coming over, and it’s weird to engage with that with your brother around, related or not.”

“I…”

“don’t ask if you don’t want to know.” she says, as she moves to the couch and picks up an ornate costume. “Do you have a spare hanger? Wait, is there a closet upstairs?”

“no.” says cal.

“mm.” she says. “do you have a toolbox?”

“so, you can build a closet?” says sherlock incredulously.

“no, so I can get a nail or a screw into the wall though, so I can hang this up. It is special after all. The rest is just travel clothes and costumes. Well you know since you’ve been through it all. I’m adoring the image of you rapidly tossing me under things about the flat. Will you help me pick it up at least? I was just going to toss stuff upstairs and leave it in there. Cal, if you’re staying help me bring this stuff upstairs. At least the stuff that wouldn’t reasonably be strewn about the living room.”

“I’m confused. Do I leave or—”

“Stay, help, whore, or leave and do whatever you like. Pick one.” she says.

“uh, the later.”

“bye.” She says, gently placing the dress over the back of a chair. She shuts and locks the door behind her as he leaves. “if something like that happens, just ask me about it Sherlock. They often get altered stories anyway.”

“The drugs.” he says.

“what drugs.” she says.

“I’m asking about the ‘flour’ you had.”

“what about it?”

He looks at her. “I don’t know. you tell me.” he says.

“I did tell you. I need cash—”  
“why did you have what looked like a kilo of china white heroin in a locked train case?” says sherlock.

“for barter.” She says.

“barter.” Sherlock repeats.

She nods. “look, I can tell you all about it, but the Woman will be here in about thirty minutes with her manager.”

“why?” says sherlock.

“because she was with Ted the same day he died. I did insult both of them. And his presence there is extremely concerning, not just for his reputation but because it could mean something very bad. As in if… what’s her name again?”

“Addler.” Says sherlock.

“as in Addler may be involved in what we saw today in that room.” She says. “if she takes the gun, she’s in a lot of trouble and she knows it. Help me get these up, will you?”

Sherlock picks up clothes and directs john to do the same as they move up the stairs.

“and his comment about paying for sex?” says sherlock as they walk up.

“oh my god.” she says. “I’ve paid sex workers yes, but I’ve never paid for sex.”

“why would you pay a sex worker if not for sex?” says sherlock.

“conversation?” she says.

“you pay sex workers to take to them?” says sherlock.

“I have. I’ve paid sex workers to talk to them, and I’ve had sex with, specifically female sex workers for free. But I’ve never paid for sex. look can we go in depth about this after woman thing. I have to get my mind on right. When she leaves if I don’t come down within sixty seconds, come check on me.”

They dump everything in the room in the corner and she opens the bag dumped by Cal. “toolbox?” she says.

Sherlock nods and when he returns he finds that she’s organized some of the piles or put them back in bags. Several whips and similar items are put on the bed.

“Are you really—”

“it’s important she not bring anything of her own up here.” she says screwing hooks into the ceiling above the bed. “get out. if she arrives, stall.”

* * *

 

“uh, sherlock. These two individuals are here—” says Mrs Hudson.

“Let them up. And then maybe stay downstairs. Or possibly go for a walk.” He says.

“in this rain?” she says.

“right.” Says sherlock distracted, as he sits down. ‘well just downstairs.”

“sherlock… should I maybe—”  
“if she needs medical assistance…” says sherlock.

“maybe you should be—”

“no.” says Julie walking in. “It should be me. It’s a better read and I have a reputation. And it’s of way more benefit if I do it.”

She’s still wearing sherlock’s shirt. Sherlock touches his own and points.

“I’m a shit roommate.” She says winking. “it’s going to be fine. but turn on the tv or something.”

“me? watching telly?” says sherlock. “that’s convince—”

“sound cover is sound cover. pick your poison.” She says, turning. “hello.” she says, hands in pocket.

Irene is there in a smart black pencil skirt and coat, her bare throat visible at the collar. She’s with a burley man in an expensive suit and coat, with an umbrella, and walks directly in.

“Thank you mrs Hudson. You should stay downstairs.”

“I don’t know what you think is going to happen.” Says the man as the woman leaves and she shuts the door. “but the Woman doesn’t do groups.”

“can’t handle it?” says Julie turning. “no, I’m joking.” She says looking at her face. “that’s disgusting. No, it’s just me. it’s three bills for thirty minutes, right?”

“five.” Says the man.

“and for you to leave?” she says.

“Not possible.” Says the man.

Julie looks at him seriously, before pulling out a wad of cash. She counts out, to ten, folding the rest of the stack. “I reiterate, how much for you to leave, Luke.”

The man startles. “excuse—”

“of course, I know your name.” she says. “I’m not an amateur. We’re in the same line of work. This is professional development. I’ll throw in two more and they’ll go directly to your pocket, and twenty-pound note for a sandwich from the café downstairs.”

Addler looks shocked, but Luke’s greedy hands have already snatched the cash. “I’ll be back in—”

“ninety minutes.” She says. “that was the first stack. There’s four of them.”

He nods, and leaves with Addler wide eyed.

“can I offer you some tea?” says Julie once the door downstairs closes, as she locks the door to the sitting room.

“I—”

“have you eaten?” she says. “shit. _I_ haven’t eaten.” She says widening her eyes. “do we have any food in?”

“oh, am I allowed to talk?” says sherlock.

“If I say no could I stop you?”

“what’s going on?” says Addler.

“I’ve hired you. but I wasn’t sure if you’d been fully booked today. I always like for my workers to take a minute and rest so they’re at their best. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

  
“you’ve hired me.” Addler says skeptically, as Julie goes into the kitchen and looks in the fridge, before shutting it and moving to the cupboard, talking as she speaks. “yes. Do you prefer miss, mistress… something more creative?” she says.

“I…” she says.

Julie sets the box of crackers down hard as she turns to her.

“I’m sorry, do I need to explain your job to you?” she says. “I’ve hired you, a dominatrix, for ninety minutes. That started as soon as Luke left. I may be offering you a moment of rest before my expectation is that we negotiate to my preferences, but that doesn’t mean I don’t expect work now, because it kind of spoils the illusion if you start that weird, unsure shit now. You should be more confident then me. Do they not teach you these things?”

Addler looks shocked again. Julie looks at her. “fine.” she says. “we’ll talk now. I have two grand in my coat, plus more for tip... I prefer to use my own gear, which is upstairs in my room, because I have no interest getting beaten by the class paddle. I prefer the work that’s done to be absolutely not reliant on stupid outfits. And no drugs. It’s cheating and lazy. I like the mental beating of true humiliation, and I like the physical work to be rough. Obviously.” she says indicating her face. “So, for that sum of money I’d like you take ever stitch of clothing off and leave everything down here. The boys won’t steal your knickers or jewelry. I assume it isn’t a problem since my roommate and his partner have already seen you naked.

“roommate?” says Addler looking to sherlock.

“Yes.” says sherlock.

“for the time being anyway.” She says. “which. Rent.” She says handing sherlock a wad, which he takes. “now I endeavor to offer generously because I don’t like to barter. I assume two grand is more than generous for my request, especially since I’m more then capable of halving it and ensuring you can pocket it without the knowledge of your managers.”

Irene blinks.

“I’d have to know how, or I wouldn’t be able to have this kind of cash myself.”

“I was under the impression that I was ‘lacking on the top.’” Says Addler.

“I have a reputation to keep up, and as much as I adore Ted for conversation, I could never agree to work with someone when I’m sure we’re both capable of doing the lot of it by ourselves. And our managers are different. Carmen and Sybil won’t work together, and Sybil treats me very well. I wasn’t about to risk losing her. I hope you understand.”

“Sybil?”

“Sybarite?” she says. “She only keeps one dominant on permanent staff, and I just got the spot. I can’t really risk it. You don’t give up a spot with the Sybarite if you can help it. Like I said, I’m sure you understand. Do you understand?” she says, narrowing her eyes.

Addler looks at her more closely. “If you work for sybarite I assume you have—”

She pulls a key with a coin attached. “of course.” she says. “are you interested in barter instead of cash? Sybarite gave me five tokens to start.”

“the same price, and a token.” Says Addler.

“done.” She says, placing a coin on top of the cash.

Sherlock and John look on in amazement.

“and I’ll give you an additional coin for just my services, should you be interested in tit for tat.” She says. “personally, I find the competitive nature a bit limiting. I always like to learn and admire those who do the same. Especially if I provide pleasure to the experience, and vice versa. There’s a considerable sum possible if you do something I’ve never seen before, and more still if you teach me something new, though I understand the value of commodity and respect if you don’t deliberately teach it that it’s yours for trademark and not insult it by trying imitation. I have more than enough unique skill without it. As I’m sure you got an inkling of when we met. Can we begin?”

“Mistress.” She says.

She nods.

“boundaries.” She says. “nothing goes in my room except you. and we don’t play in front of those wo are here. Normally I would not have company, but a first time it’s always good to bring someone along. Well you know that.” she says. “and I have injuries that make this a much more dangerous game. If there’s a concern, it’s nice to know a doctor is here, although he’s obviously not thrilled about needing to stick around. Ce la vie. I use the color scale, although I’ve never said anything other than green in all my time in this world, and my only hard boundary is blades. I bleed too easily. And drugs. For someone so offensive, I’m a very good listener for a good mistress. I think that covers everything, and I can take off my clothes too if you feel more comfortable.”

“really?” says sherlock annoyed.

“oh, like you care even a little.” She says rolling her eyes. “if you like it you can look, if you don’t look somewhere else, and if you haven’t gotten it yet, I really don’t care about modesty in the slightest.” She says unbuttoning her shirt. “although I will leave your shirt. Thanks for letting me steal it.”

“I didn’t let you.” he says.

“no. you didn’t. but it is yours, so I won’t risk the buttons.” She says taking off her coat and leaving it on the table. She sets the gun down too, before tossing the shirt vaguely towards sherlock. He rolls his eyes and turns on the television.

“I accept your terms.”

“thank you, mistress.”

“but you have to take them off.” she says.

Julie looks at her smiling a bit as she reaches for her pants.

“No. you have to take MINE off.” she says.

Julie narrows her eyes.

“yes mistress—”

“don’t speak unless I tell you.” she says. “coat.”

Julie approaches softly stepping, her demeaner changing rapidly. She reaches and with easy execution and no hesitation she unbuttons the buttons of Miss Addler’s coat.

“slower.” She says. Julie moves more slowly.

“I think I’ll just—” says John getting up. Addler looks at him but Julie continues on the task. John moves to the kitchen and looks around somewhat helplessly. Sherlock sees Addler’s eyes linger on the gun as Julie slowly removes her coat, grazing her arms. Addler smacks her.

“I said take my clothes off. I didn’t say you could touch me. Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry Mistress.” Says Julie.

“get on your knees and say it.” she says.

Julie gets on her knees and repeats herself.

“remove the rest, and don’t touch me unless I say.”

“yes Mistress.” Says Julie.

As she pulls the skirt down carefully, revealing Irene in just panties, stockings and shoes, Julie leans all the way down exposing her back. Irene gasps slightly and Julie winces before looking up.

Addler makes an effort to compose herself. She takes her jewelry off.

“I require gloves if I need my own gear.”

Julie looks up, and gently nods once.

“is that yes you have some?”

“yes mistress.”

“I said don’t speak unless spoken to.” says Addler, smacking her across the bruise. Julie gasps, and then a soft sound of pleasure escapes her.

Sherlock turns to look at her, surprised. He crosses his legs.

“I have a question… jack.” She says.

Julie looks up.

“you can keep going, and you can answer. What’s your policy on services for those you live with.”

“do you wish to lay claim, Mistress Addler?” she says.

Irene looks down at her.

“I do not wish to. I _have.”_ She says. “I’m asking if you need additional punishment.”

Julie seems to pause. “Sherlock gets ticket to the opera from me. Not tokens. But I’m sure you can find something to punish me for mistress.”

“shoe.” She says lifting her shoe up and putting it on Julie’s bruised shoulder. Julie clears her throat and removes the shoe.

“Now hose. With your teeth.” She says.

Julie lifts a hand indicating the foot on her shoulder and Addler nods. Julie holds the foot as she grips the thigh high stocking with her teeth and slowly pulls. She repeats again, groaning a little.

Irene’s eyes are now entirely on Julie.

“the same again.” she says indicating the thong.

Julie shivers before spinning. She leans back between Addler’s legs, her face up and uses her tongue to catch the thin fabric of the thong. She breaths gently, pausing, and Addler lets out a small sound and a slight shiver. Julie keeps them in her mouth, moving to just her teeth once she’s two inches away, biting and pulling them farther. The side strings resist moving but eventually slide down, Julie going to the floor beneath Addler.

“And let go Jack.” She says. Julie lets go and the thong bounces above her face.

“remove them.” she says.

Julie takes her hands and slides a finger in the space by the string, sliding it as she pulls it away from skin and Irene steps out.

“don’t let them touch the ground.” Says Addler. “mouth again, dear.”

Julie takes them into her mouth without hesitation. Sherlock is watching with total focus now, and Addler looks at him and smiles. “enjoying yourself?” she says to him.

Julie makes an annoyed noise, and Addler looks down catching her rolling her eyes.

“I’m sorry. are you criticizing me?” she says.

Julie says nothing.

“that’s right.” Says Addler. “Put those with the rest of my things, dear, and stay on your knees.” She adds as if reminding her to put dishes in the sink.

Sherlock doesn’t stop watching and when Julie catches him as she releases them she says, “yellow.”

“I’m sorry?”

She nods at sherlock. “I said not to play in here.” she says.

“oh, you did. that’s right.” Says Addler. “but you also said you were paying for every minute and you expected me to work.”

“that’s why I said yellow.” She says. “fuck off Holmes.”

“I don’t know he can stand up, love.” says Addler.

Julie turns away looking thoroughly displeased.

“if I were remotely interested in involving a man in casual sex I’d invite one.” she says.

Addler smiles down at her.

“clothes off.” she says standing by the door. “I think five seconds is more than enough time.”

Julie removes her clothes frantically, everything coming off. John at this point has moved to the bathroom and turned the faucet on and is humming to drown it out.

“almost dear.” She says. “I’ll have to give you a round for it. upstairs.” She says and opens the door. Julie crawls up the stairs and Irene follows.

“you can come out john. They’re upstairs.”  
john comes out looking pale and thoroughly scandalized.

“what in god’s green—”

“maybe we just don’t talk about it. pick something to watch.” Says sherlock.

“and we’re just letting that—”

There’s a loud noise from upstairs and a cry of something between pleasure and pain. And again. and again.”

“apparently.” says sherlock. “turn it up.” he says about the tv.

“I don’t know that will work to—”

SMACK, _hnngh._

“headphones?” says sherlock.

“yes. That might do it.” says john. “have you got—”

“drawer.” He says pointing. He shuts his eyes and goes into his mind to calm what’s happened between his legs.

“Sherlock? are you okay?” says john looking at him. “there’s only—”

Sherlock stands up and moves to the bedroom and returns after a moment with a second pair. “laptop or iPod?” he says.

There’s just muffled speaking coming from upstairs.

“laptop.” Says john and sherlock gestures for him to as he takes the music player and turns it on before selecting a book from the shelf.

Thirty minutes later Addler comes downstairs.

Sherlock lifts a headphone checking his watch.

“we aren’t done. I just thought I’d get the darling some water.” Says Addler. “and give her a moment. She seemed to need it. You’ll have about ten minutes before we’ll be returning to work, if you’d like to give your ears a break.” Addler fills a glass and leans against the door frame. John looks at her confused and pulls out a headphone.

“what?” he says a bit loudly.

Addler smiles. “I said it’ll be a bout ten minutes before we return to work. Your friend needed a break.”

“they aren’t friends.” Says sherlock.

“oh, don’t say that.” says Irene with a degree of sass. “She’s quite the specimen. Very… flexible.” She says.

A muscle twitches in sherlock’s jaw.

“does that bother you, Mister Holmes.”

“It bothers me to be unable to take clients and have to go to such measures during the middle of a Monday.” Says sherlock.

Irene smiles more broadly.

“you could leave.” She says.

“My OWN flat?” says sherlock. “No. I think not.”

“well technically it’s both of yours now.” says Addler. “what possessed you to have a new flatmate to begin with.”

Sherlock shrugs. “I needed one. She’s moderately clever, and musically ‘gifted’” he says, emphasizing the last word with equal parts seriousness and sarcasm. “so, when she is home, which is rarely, she provides some diversion. And she pays in advance. Julie… or Jack.” He says correcting. “is going through some kind of break up or something, and since she doesn’t date men and I am married to my work there is no risk for complication.”

“I see. I had thought when I saw you both at Gatsby’s that perhaps here was something more.”

“do you have to insist on talking to us with my flatmate’ s vaginal excretions on your face and hands?” he says with some disgust. John turns quickly to look at Irene before releasing the error in looking when she smiles a naughty smile.

“is that an assumption, or did you deduce?”

“both.” Says sherlock.

“well, go on.” she says drinking the water as she leans against the door frame.

“I thought you were going to wear gloves.”

“apparently miss—”  
“Mizz.” Says sherlock.

“Mizz?” says Irene.

“she insists.” Says sherlock.

“I was intrigued, and she said, ‘green’” says Irene widening her eyes. “how do you know.”  
“besides the smell?”

“of course.” she says.

“obvious, surely.” Says sherlock. Irene just tilts her head. “you washed your hands when you came in. and you still have some mild wrinkling on your middle finger and thumb.”

“and the face?”

Sherlock turns back to his book. “flushing from breathing hot hair into your own face, and the tip of your nose is red.”

John glances again at her, searching her face, and seeing what sherlock describes before turning back flushing.

Irene nods. “I see. interesting. Very interesting.” She moves back to the kitchen and filling the glass before walking out, waving to the boys.

* * *

 

“red.” Says Julie suddenly. Nothing is really happening.

“really?” says Irene.

“I need a break.” She says.

“another? I’ve hardly—”

“to discuss not to rest.” Says Julie, her voice still choked, her face streaked with tears.

Irene sighs. “I get the feeling this is—”

“how long have you been working fo _r les monstres bestiaux_?” she says. Irene goes pale. Or paler anyway.

“I don’t know what you mean.” she says.

“is there a child?” she asks.

Irene looks frightened.

“I made you take everything off for a reason.”

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about, and if you wanted to talk—”

“yes, you do, and I did because I was also interested and that’s a fuck ton of money.” She whispers. “Look, ted’s dead. did you know?”

“I… what?” she says.

“killed late last night. killed in a building supposedly in his name that was a port for them fifteen years ago. We found a cell of ‘ _produits’_ in the same building. It was brutal. If you’re in danger—”

“you can stop.” she says. “I’m perfectly—”  
“when I saw you I could not believe the passivity of what I saw. This wasn’t passive which is good. but I decided to be such a bastard because you looked like you needed some fight. I didn’t ask myself if what I took for lazy… well if all I took for lazy could possibly just be defeated. Miss Addler, this is of course an apology. Do you need help? Is there a child? How old is he? or is it she?” she says. “mm, no he. how old?”

“I have no idea what you are talking—”

Julie grabs her face with both hands. “Irene.” She says seriously. “once you leave her I can’t help you. Talk to me.” she says.

“you aren’t paying me—”

“you are the first worker I’ve ever paid for anything else and should consider yourself extremely flattered. I figured though that if I were to offer an apology it’d be better the more sincerely l I could recant and amend. And of course, you can’t leave too early or it’ll be suspicious.”

“well you are mistaken. So much so that I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“I really hope that’s true Irene.” She says.

“Miss Addler or mistress.” She says irritated.

“yes, Miss Addler.” She responds back. “My apologies. If you would like to resume, I do like playing ladies maid should that be an inclination. I may not be the most feminine, but I do own a hair brush and lipstick and the like.”

* * *

 

Irene returns after almost forty minutes, wearing just a sheet, as Julie leads her down the stairs in a long shirt obviously used for sleeping. she waves to the boys looking exhausted, her face still streaked and puffy.

“you’ve been crying.” Says sherlock.

“mm. part of what gets me there. don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.” she says sounding devoid of emotion. “miss Addler.” She says. “I am... impressed. Once I’ve recovered I’ll be in touch. Perhaps we can set up something more regular. I won’t ask you to converse again.” she says.

Addler turns. “you’d have to speak to my assistant about scheduling. I don’t know if I have any regular availability.”

“that would be unfortunate.” Says Julie. She sets cash down on the table. “this is quite possibly goodbye. A little extra generosity.” She says putting a few tokens down. “although I hope perhaps you’ll book an appointment with me, so we can trade experiences, if for no other reason than to return the favor. I’m flexible in many ways and am available for requests. For you.” she says emphasizing as she places a hundred-pound note on the table. “please be gone by the time I get back.” She says. “john, I require your services.” She says as she walks but stumbles. “Julie—”

“if you’d give me hand to the bathroom I’d be much obliged. And before you say anything, no I don’t expect this to be a regular occurrence.” She says giving him a serious look and he nods and helps her.

“john.” says sherlock, and they follow her to the bathroom and sherlock shuts the door.

Sherlock opens the door and she walks through. She gives john a look and whispers. “tell him you need an extra hand to support.”

“Sherlock. I think we need an extra hand to keep her upright.”

Sherlock sighs. “you can see yourself out miss Addler.” Says sherlock as he closes the door.

“this is absolutely ridiculous. This is—”

“For fuck’s sake of course, it’s not something I expect normally but what do you care.” she says. she sits on the toilet and puts a hand up gripping herself looking pale.

“are you alright?” says john.

“well seeing as I asked you to look at me, technically I need assistance before I’m alright. That’s how you know it was good.”

They hear the noises of her tossing her clothes on.

She whispers. “ensure she takes everything. no piece of jewelry left behind. Sherlock. thirty seconds.”

He nods and when he returns.

“do they not need your help.”  
“Move passed needing to stand.” Says sherlock. “don’t forget anything, since you’re so keen on avoiding seeing her again.”

“I’m not—” says Irene.

Sherlock tilts his head, before sighing. “oh, please don’t tell me this is something regular I’d have to deal with. That’s a fairly disruptive habit to have to work around. Your earrings are on the floor.”

She looks down. “right.” She says picking them up off the floor. The bathroom door open. Irene freezes and then calls. “Goodbye Mizz jack.” She calls before leaving, walking down the steps, and exiting. Julie goes to the window and waves to the man with her as they get into a car.

The gun is gone.

 


	10. Share With The Class

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julie explains to the boys what the possible purpose could be to the dramatic steps she went through.

## Chapter Ten: Share With The Class

 

Julie straightens, the exhaustion seeming to leave.

“fucker.” She says.

Sherlock is momentarily amazed by the transformation, and John so much more so. She rubs her jaw.

“Are you going to explain?” says sherlock.

“I expect so.” She says.

“Really? Because I have yet to see a full explanation of anything.” Sherlock responds.

“Ditto.” She says.

“Excuse me?” Says Sherlock.

“I’m not doing this. I need a bath, I feel like shit, my head officially hurts, and I’m exhausted. And that was a ridiculous sum of money, and amount of risk for very little information.”

“annoyed.” Says sherlock, leaning a bit back.

“bingo.” She says.

“just annoyed?” he says.

“grows exponentially.” She says before turning “John, I assume I do in fact need to be inspected, although thank Christ the damn woman took pity on the bruising. Except my face of course.” she says. “please tell me I can take an advil or something.” She says directing all the comments at John.

“Let me look you over I suppose… Although are you sure your comfortable—”

She lifts the shirt, revealing simple black panties, but stops and inhales sharply. “shit.” She says stopping and dropping an arm, sliding it through the sleeve carefully before succeeding to take the shirt off, and dropping it on the floor.

“Shoulders please.”

John keeps his eyes high at first but sees the bruising across her backside and legs.

“I suppose I should stick to ice and not heat.” She says to the wall.

“…yes.” says John absently. “how did you get this>” he says touching a welt that runs across her back and into the bruising.

“Whip.” She says through gritted teeth.

She moves a bit, and clears her throat. John can smell sex on her and looks up to the ceiling to mentally distract himself from it.

“I can literally hear you being uncomfortable John and I don’t care about if you have an erection or not so if you stop focusing on it and do doctory things that would be the best course of action. I’ll be getting paid to create just that response if I heal up in time for a weekend show.”

John’s brain fizzes for a moment, replaying each part of what she said, attempting to process.

“What’s the verdict?” she says.

“That you won’t be healed by this weekend for one.” says John.

“Well enough to move? The bruises won’t matter very much. I get a lot of dispensation and am fairly creative. Front?” she says.

“Did you get hit in the front?” Says John, attempting to pause her.

She turns and John’s eyes immediately shoot up to her face. She sighs. “Bites.” She says.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s all well and good that ‘my eyes are up here’ has worked well, but the bites are lower.” She says looking down. John’s eyes travel down to he breasts, and focuses on the bruising.

“woohoo—” Mrs Hudson’s voice through the door and a knock.

“NO!” Julie calls. She grabs john by the wrist and drags him down the hall opening the bathroom before nodding at sherlock.

“Okay Mrs Hudson. You can come in.” he says.

“Goodness. I suppose now that you have your wife here I should be sure to enter at my own risk.”

“Yes.” says Sherlock simply. She smiles. “I heard footsteps, and saw that woman and her big brute leave. Everything alright?” she says.

“I suppose.” Says Sherlock.

“OW!” calls from the bathroom. “Christ John why would you POKE it?”

“Hold still.” They hear from the bathroom.

“What’s going on?” says Mrs Hudson.

“I’m… not sure.” says Sherlock.

John leaves the room after a moment.

“Have you got ice downstairs Mrs Hudson?” Says John.

“Yes. Oh is Julie hurting?”

“Yes.” says John simply.

“I’ll be right back. I can get ice from the shop.” John nods and thanks her.

“she’s also pretty badly bruised.” He says directing it at Sherlock once Mrs Hudson leaves.

“yes?”

“No I mean… other places.” He says. “bruised and bleeding.”

Sherlock looks at him confused.

“Yes? Is there something you’re trying to say?”

“Do I need to spell it out for you?” says john.

Sherlock stands up and goes to the bathroom, about to go in when he hears something and stops. Then a flush and the sound of a facet.

“Thanks for lingering and not actually ENTERING while I was going to the bathroom.” She calls through the door and Sherlock opens it, revealing Julie in one of his dressing gown.

“Are you being serious or sarcastic?” says Sherlock.

She pivots her eyes at him, a look of annoyance on her face before it breaks a bit and she laughs. “both? Both.” She says before bending and washing her face, scrubbing her hands with the vigor of a surgeon. Or someone with some level of hypochondria and obsessive-compulsion.

“what the hell is up with you and that girl?” she says as she scrubs her hands again.

“I... nothing.” he says defensively. “what the hell is up with you and a kilo of heroin?”

“Won it in a card game.” She says. “Since I don’t have any interest in the stuff, and since I know how expensive it is, I figured I’d hang onto it for barter. It’s not really that—”

“And you were anticipating needing to barter?” says Sherlock. “with the kind of people who barter in such things?”

“I was anticipating I’d need an influx of cash at some point in my future. Which is why it pisses me off to have spent it on someone like that. _”_

“like what?” says Sherlock.

“like is in a stupid amount of trouble, won’t help herself, and probably would hop right into a new terrible situation once she’s out of the first and thinks it proves she’s clever and cool.” She says before sticking a toothbrush into her mouth and scrubbing. She puts a finger up.

“we’ve got ice for you love!” calls Mrs Hudson.

She spits. “Thank you. one sec!” she calls before taking a swish of mouthwash. She gargles and spits.

“an impressive performance.” Says Sherlock.

“I’m glad you find toileting impressive.” she says.

“that’s not what I meant.” Says Sherlock following her.

“mm.” she says. “well I’m sure you’ll tell me what you meant, but I’d like to point out that I asked you a question, and you deflected with your own. I answered your question, and you haven’t answered mine.”

“Because your question is ridiculous.” Says Sherlock.

She hmms. “I actually can’t argue with that. It isn’t really relevant at the moment. Where is my phone?” she says walking carefully down through the kitchen.

“I think perhaps it’s time you sit down and fill the rest of the class in.” says Sherlock.

She dials. “Thank you Mrs Hudson for the ice.”

“of course love. If you need anything I’m right downstairs.”

Julie nods, and Sherlock says, “Julie—” but she begins speaking into the phone at her hear.

“ _bonjour_ Sybil _. Comment allez-vous?”_ she says into her phone, before pulling it away and whispering. “Do you mind if I sit in yours John?” she gestures to his chair. He nods and she lowers herself to it carefully, making a small noise.

“I’m sorry what? _oui._ Yes she left a bit ago. I appreciate you pulling those strings for me, and I wish I could say that I’d be showing my appreciation by not asking for another favor, but that’s exactly what I’m about to do. In fact, I’m asking for an out-of-the-kindness-of-your-heart, as my friend favor. Not a professional one, but a personal request. I’d like the Woman to become a member. _member_ not service.”

She pauses listening.

“I don’t think you’ve truly considered it. Someone with a moniker like that, given full membership… There are so few women already, and because of who she is, and what she does, the intrigue would be cashed in for far more than one might expect. Attendance would multiply considerably. An invitation, extended from comradery and professional appreciation, given from sybarite herself, delivered by her favorite… gossip is worth its weight in gold, and I feel certain it would take something of that caliber to have her be willing to see me again, something I definitely want….”

She pauses listening again.

“No actually. It’s the raw anger I think, of being insulted. What is it about women and their need to outdo one another, especially when one has condescended the other? It makes them so…. _aggressive._ I had never offered so much as a yellow in all my years, and I offered red today. Twice. A dangerous game, because the anger is very real. I’d like to keep the game going on, and to offer _membership_ both a challenge and an apology, would I’m sure earn me a regular place if for no other reason than the access it gives her. and you and I both know you have a monopoly she couldn’t hope to compete with anyway. I know I could offer trades, but I… will you consider it just because?”

She smiles a bit after a moment. “you are fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. And you do know where I’m staying, yes? I’ve already annoyed my flatmate tremendously. Really? Holmes. His younger brother yes. That’s actually how I heard about Ted. Well it’s 221B if you’d like to come visit while I limp about, but you’ll have to bring your own board. I’m not sure he has scrabble here, and I’m definitely not sure he’d appreciate me using it. I stole one of his shirts this morning, so he tossed all my clothes all over the living room, as quite the display of how I have enough of my own. Basically, a fantastic time all around, but still a necessary balancing act. It’s his turn to annoy and inconvenience me. Tuesday night? _merci._ _Adieu.”_ She hangs up, her face returning to impassive as she accepts ice, placing one between her legs, which causes Sherlock to widen his eyes, as she moves to hold the other at her shoulder, leaning back and wincing.

“Sherlock. John.” she says as John sits down. “I’m a bit surprised that there are things I’ve done you haven’t followed. What should I explain.”

“I thought you weren’t a prostitute.” Says sherlock.

“I’m not. You can ask Sybarite when she comes by for scrabble.”

“and what is scrabble code for?” says Sherlock. She looks at him like he’s an idiot. “it’s a board game. Have you never heard of scrabble?”

“I didn’t ask what it was, I asked what it’s code for.”

“it’s not code for anything. We play scrabble.” She says. “sit at a table with letter tiles, making words that are calculated for points. Scrabble.” She says. “you’re both welcome to join, as long as you don’t mind that we play with both English and French vocabulary.”

“and you are one of her girls because…?” says sherlock.

“Have you heard of the _bon vivants?”_ she says to the both of them.

“good living?” says John.

“in essence, yes. It’s a term for a person who enjoys a luxurious lifestyle. It’s also the name of a highly exclusive, membership only, world-wide secret society, with ranks. It’s extremely expensive, and difficult to get in even with obscene amounts of money. You need to be invited. Your brother is a member, and before you looked scandalized, the Bon Vivants host dinners for epicures, art auctions, symphonic and operatic performances. Sybarite is a member because she controls England’s highest-class escorts and courtesans, with courtesans only being available in the corridor, in her establishment called Pandora. To get into Pandora you need tokens, like most of the establishments, although not all. The blue gets you into corridor, and you hold onto it. The token which I said was mine is for the ACTUAL BDSM Pandora girls. She has to specify if she goes there with the express purpose of seeing me, and they trade it for an appointment card.”

“and you aren’t one of these girls.” Says Sherlock.

“nope. I just play music. dance around in vaguely revealing clothing.”

“and Ted?”

“Ted is Colette's ex-husband.” She says. “and he really is a nice guy. Was.” she shakes her head. “I can’t imagine he’d be involved in what it looks like. He’s a pussycat. I can’t imagine him…” she trails off.

“And what is it he could have been involved in.”

“Given my history.” She says gesturing at the wall, “I have had an interest in the history and mechanics of human trafficking. That specific building was rumored to have been involved in a human trafficking ring that was broken up over fifteen years ago, but no evidence of it was found and it was put up for sale. I thought, given the fact that it is a child whose suspected, but obviously a child couldn’t have picked Ted up to rotate him, so there must be some other entrance and exit, and that the rotation must have served a purpose. Secret doors are far more common then people think. That’s how corridor is accessed. I figured they must have been wrong and that there might be a hidden door or something somewhere.”

“what was the ring called—”

“it wasn’t that ring. The cameras.” She says.

“what about them?”

“the ring that was busted up was involved in adoption fraud. Not mine apparently but still. There weren’t any children young enough for that. Every child was old enough to beg. That’s on purpose.”

“you think they were being filmed for pornography.” Says sherlock.

“No. well if you can call that pornography. No. Those people. Their lives were for sale. The last breath gets taken the way the higher bidder asks.”

John’s face caves. “I…”

“I feel sick about it too.” she says.

“you told them their families were dead.” says sherlock. “how do you know that?”

“I don’t. but better them believe they are and then find out it’s not true, then to hold on hope. and it is fairly likely. The group who does this… they are known by reputation as the Bestial Monsters. And if Miss Addler is involved… do you think she’s given birth at any time in her life?” she says.

“you think they might have taken her child?! Wait that kid couldn’t—” starts John.

“no.” says sherlock.

“I think the same. But she did react strongly about the idea of a male child. And she took the gun. This invitation will hopefully serve as some protection. If she’s involved with these people in any kind of victim capacity, then she is on her way to a room just like that…and if Ted died because she hypothetically told him about it, then her fear about it makes a lot of sense, especially if she knows that’s the kind of ending that awaits if things go wrong. My concern about her possible involvement was the reason I decided it would be better to go through a broader act. It’s why, for example, I insisted on her removing everything and not use any of her own stuff, so I could get her truly alone enough to even ask about it, and still be able to seem believable in that I had let it go. And her believing I’m one of sybarites implies I have a lot more protection then is visible. If there weren’t a possible family member or loved one in some capacity involved, I could possibly negotiate a buy for her, but if she’s beholden to them because they have another person as collateral, the buy would actually put her and the collateral in even more danger. As a member of such an exclusive group, the potential value she has to the group skyrockets.”

“and you really think she’s been…” begins john, unsure how to describe the position Addler might be in.

“I told her myself that I assumed her passivity was due to laziness, but it hadn’t occurred to me that she might have lost her fight because she was in a hopeless situation.”

“and you plan on seeing her again.” says sherlock.

“god I _fucking_ hope not.” Says Julie. “I wasn’t kidding about the anger being apparent, but it is not a fun experience to have to take a beating without fighting back twice in almost twenty-four hours. She bit me!” she says irritated. “like some kind of fucking cannibal. Fucking sadists. I’m not a hundred percent sure she’s actually in need of protection at all. I’m significantly less sure she was genuinely disarmed by what I said then I am about her very clear pleasure from that whole bit—ow!” she says when she tenses her shoulders in displeasure, as if trying to physically back away from something uncomfortable. she sighs.

“and she didn’t use protection.”

“no!” she says. “what kind of worker does that? where’s the professionalism?!”

John laughs a short surprised laugh, before trying to straighten his face again, but she smiles a bit. “okay.” she says softly. “so the last thing I have to say is that I would bring mycroft in on this case. I can’t get you a membership—”

“you can get the Woman one.” says sherlock.

“You don’t belong there.” she says.

“and you do.” Says sherlock. it isn’t a question.

“what do you mean?” she says.

“what do _you_ mean?” he quips back.

“I mean you don’t care about gossip, and you aren’t in need of a whore.” She says. “and even if you are, I’m sure you have the ability to find one who doesn’t cost thousands of pounds. You’re turn.” she says.

“don’t.” says John.

“no. I’m curious.” She says. John looks at her seriously. “did you say that because you were trying to imply I was a whore? Because the cash in my jacket is all the cash to my name, and if that’s all I have I’m probably shit. If I was a whore, and shit, I wouldn’t be there. If I was a whore, and wasn’t shit, I’d have a lot more money to my name.”

“Unless you get paid in big sacks of drugs.” says sherlock.

She blinks before laughing. “what would even be the conversation rate on that? Will, be serious.”

“No, I mean you belong there because you’re apparently related to a wealthy family earning you a degree of respect from an exclusive dinning establishment that I assume may be part of this, and because you said you paid for whores before. For ‘conversation.’ Obviously you aren’t the whore, but the client.”

“that’s shit. Technically now I am but I only did it because the possibility was this girl needed help and how else was I going to get—”

“you could have taken her upstairs and asked upon entering—”

“and then she’d leave after I negotiated for so much time which is extremely suspicious—”

“an amount of time you didn’t need to negotiate—”

“I really was offering to feed her. Give her a moment to collect herself. Get a feel for her desire to be around you—”

“oh for the love of—”

“AS A DETECTIVE! As in, hello I’m in trouble and he’s just the man to help me. Not whatever… _flirtation_ is happening.”

“happen _ING?”_ he snaps.

“on her side, obviously. Phone. Eyes. Claim.” She says in quick staccato.

He makes an extended, irritated groaning noise.

She laughs again. “I love you.” she says.

He blinks surprised. John even seems unbalanced by the statement.

“If you love me you would have insisted your whore used protection.” Says sherlock. her jaw drops a bit. “if you loved me statements are terrible. I’m telling you I love you because it’s true. and we can’t have sex because she BIT me.” she says.

“wait… she… THERE?”

“Yes. THERE.” she says. “after several hardy smacks to it first. I have never felt so violated in all my life, which is the point but it didn’t have to hurt so damn much. Christ on a candybar.” She says. “what the FUCK is wrong with her?!”

Sherlock snorts a bit at how annoyed she sounds but then a thought hits him like a ton of bricks.

“bruised and bleeding.” He says to john. “Did you look at her—Did you POKE—”

“OH MY GOD!” says Julie. “NO! OH good GOD and all his GARDEN gnomes!”

John doesn’t manage to stop the surprised laugh that bursts.

“Of COURSE John didn’t POKE it. I didn’t flash my genitals at him! There’s no—I do have some boundaries. Christ Fuck. I can’t have John look at that. That would be way too weird.”

“THAT would be too weird?” says sherlock.

“I’m sorry, do you NOT think so?” julie retorts back.

“You flash your breasts—”

“Oh. My god.” she says.

“Maybe I should—”

“Look what you did.” she says. “you had to make it weird.”

“ _I_ did?! You told him to ignore—”

“I’m going to go.” Says john.

“Sorry. No sorry.” she says to John. “Seriously. I am so sorry for putting you in that uncomfortable position.”

“It’s alright. I am a doctor. I really have seen it all before.” He says.

“And you.” she says pointing at her husband. “It is totally ridiculous that a man’s nipples are appropriate to be flashed in public but women can’t flash them even when it’s related to need or care. She BIT me. I got BITTEN by your whore and you’d have—”

“She’s not _my_ whore!” he says. “stop saying that.”

“But it makes you look so shaken.” She says slowly smiling. “my everything hurts. why must you deprive me of the joy of—”

“Irritating me.” says Sherlock.

“Exactly.” She says, her mouth ticking up more. “So... does this mean I’ve been farther with her then you have?”

He scoffs and gets up.

“Hey!” she says.

“What?”

“Since your up, will you put a pot of coffee on?”

“You can have tea.” He says, pivoting and going to the kitchen.

“Well offer some to John too! You accused him of poking my—”

“JOHN!” he says cutting her off. “Tea?”

“uh…”

“Yes.” they both say. after a moment she says softly. “vulva.”

Sherlock snorts in laughter before bouncing in muffled snickers, bending toward the counter from the effort to try and stop the juvenile response. John laughs at his laughing and she grins, laughing once at the lot.

“I hate you.” says Sherlock.

“Aaand there goes the marriage. All because I said—”

“Don’t.” he says, laughing a bit anyway.

“Vulva.” She says again, and he turns around trying to get his composure.

“So immature.” She says to john in mock seriousness.

“Yes you are.” says Sherlock. the kettle clicks.

 


	11. Not My Scene (See Notes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter focuses on Lestrade questioning Julie about her connection to the dead man. Julie is suspected of being involved because she knew him, and is looked into because signs of BDSM were present. Lestrade showed up with a search warrant to look for BDSM gear, specifically a key to a chastity device Theodore Johnson was wearing. 
> 
> Mycroft Holmes expresses surprise and something like admiration for the proccesses Julie has already been a part of, and agrees to keep consistent with her plan, assist as he is expected to, and try to keep Mr Johnson's sexual tastes out of the papers.
> 
> The woman who packed the gear for her, along with a Dungeon Master and his 'pet' arrive to provide expertise on he BDSM world and associated gear, and to prove she didn't acquire any of it until after Ted was already dead. 
> 
> Sherlock expresses surprise that Julie is upset as she appeared, as she reiterates her practice of deliberately implying something inaccurate while never saying anything that isn't technically true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long, very rough, and is more of clarification and housekeeping. I find it hard to skip over explaining at least to myself any expected issues, but this is mostly just a lot of explanations.

## Chapter Eleven: Not My Scene

_The Next Day_

Lestrade comes up the stairs with heavy treads. He stands in the doorway, and sherlock looks up at him.

“Are you going to let me look at this kid’s clothes?” says Sherlock. “I know I’m good but these photos aren’t all that useful.”

“We have to talk to Julia Sherlock.” says Lestrade taking two measured steps in.

“She’s asleep.” Says Sherlock. “John made her take something so she’d sleep. She’s got a doctor’s appointment with someone who isn’t John because it’s ‘weird.’” He says widening his eyes.

“Sherlock.” says Lestrade. “Did you know she was the last person to see him alive?”

“Her and a restaurant full of people.” says sherlock.

“What restaurant?” says Lestrade.

“Where we went to brunch. She called it ‘Gatsby’s’ but I think that must be some reference I don’t get.”

“we…”

“My parents, Mycroft, John, and her brother Cal.” says Sherlock. “After we told them about who she was. Sunday morning. approximately 11:20 in the morning.”

“No. at 12:15 she was at his home. He came home five minutes later and they went directly to his office. According to the maid they were in there for about thirty minutes, speaking in hushed tones.”

“The maid said _hushed tones?”_

“Those weren’t her exact words, but you get the—”

“is that who told you she was at his house, too?” says Sherlock.

“security footage.” Says Greg. He hands him a folder. Sherlock glances at the photo and sure enough, there is Julie, unbruised and still put together.

“Sherlock… there were signs of recent—”

“sexual activity? And you think it was Julianna.”

“He wore a condom so we can’t be sure who it—”

“it wasn’t Julie.” Says sherlock.

“How does she know him?”

“He is—” he pauses. “that’s her. JULIE!” he yells.

She pauses at the door before walking carefully out the door. She looks pale and sweaty.

“well you look—”

she staggers a little.

Sherlock stands up. she shakes her head. “still super foggy and dizzy.” She says. “why are you—Oh. Hi Greg. Morning. Sherlock will you make me… something.” She says unsure. “Did I eat yesterday?”

Sherlock thinks. “Not that I saw.”

“shit.” She says. “food?”

“if I am going to have to make sure you eat—”

“the meds fuck my appetite. And yesterday was… you know.” she says waving. “are you here to talk to me greg?”

“I am. Can you come to the station.”

“I can’t even walk down the stairs.” She says, slowly sitting down and wincing.”

“how are you seeing that doctor then?” says sherlock.

“Cal’s picking me up so he can… you know… pick me up. Not something that’s just sugar.”

“I’m not cooking for—”

“I’ll just ask Cal to bring something.” She interrupts tiredly.

“when is he coming?”

“Hour and… forty ish minutes. I don’t know, what time is it?”

“Eight oh eight.” says sherlock.

“oh, that was pretty close. He’ll be here at 9:40.”

“Toast?” he asks.

“if that’s an offer, yes please. and coffee if you’re feeling generous.”

He nods behind her but she seems to know that’s what he did. “Which also means Greg, that that’s how long we have to talk. I assume you’re keeping our relationship out of the investigation.”

“I am for now but—”

“It may be more important for my safety then previously anticipated. I’m quite possibly in a line of fire now. Actually it was my intention to try and have a meeting with—” she pauses and the sound of footsteps comes up the stairs. “oh sherlock, you are good.” she says.

Mycroft enters to find Lestrade and Julie sitting looking at him, and Mycroft takes an unconscious step back from the force of surprise to see her face so altered.

“I’m not looking in a mirror until people stop doing that. Mycroft I’m glad you’re here. Will you join this conversation?”

“is it necessary?” says mycroft.

“Les Monstres Beastiaux are likely in England. The Bestial Monsters. I don’t know if that’s the kind of thing that crosses your desk—”

“The what?” says Greg.

“A human trafficking ring. One associated with—”

“Online Live-Feed torture and murder auctions.” Says mycroft.

The lines of Greg’s face seem to harden at such a statement.

“yes I had heard Sherlock was involved in finding a hidden bunker outfitted with cameras, along with quite a number of prisoners. It’s in the morning papers.” Provides Mycroft.

“is it?” she says. “Well that’s unfortunate. Is Sherlock listed as part of it? or myself?”

“Sherlock and colleagues.” Says Mycroft. “rumored.”

“Rumored.” She says. “I suppose we can work with that. Sherlock is after all, investigating Ted’s death.”

“They’re related.” Says Greg.

“you have definitive proof of that Greg?” she says. Sherlock brings her the toast.

“coffee’s on. I’ll make it up when it’s done.” Says sherlock.

“ _merci.”_ She says without thinking. “thank you. So, do you?”

“He was found at the scene.” Says Greg.

“Circumstantial.” She says.

“Do you have reason to believe Mr Johnson—”

“Ted.” She says.

“Ted. Do you have some—”

“No. I have no evidence to offer.”

“Julia. I think you should call a lawyer.” Says Greg.

“Just ask your questions Greg. What do you want to know?” she says.

“why did you visit Mr Johnson at his residence Sunday afternoon?” says Greg.  

“Ah. At his residence. Police speak. I went to his house to smooth things over. He’d tried to set me up with the woman he was bringing to brunch.”

“a woman?” says Lestrade.

“mmm.” she says. “I have a bit of a reputation when it comes to seeing women.”

“really?” says lestrade. She nods. Lestrade pauses looking at Sherlock.

“A _reputation?”_ he says.

“Do you really care?” she asks, looking at Sherlock. “I thought you didn’t.”

“mm.” says Sherlock. “of course not. But a _reputation?”_

“are we doing this again? People think I’m gay. Actually, people who have an opinion on the matter by and large think I’m a bit of a lothario, although with with a—”

“don’t.” says sherlock. she smiles, before saying. “I find it oddly sexist that there isn’t a term for a female womanizer. I mean femme fatale is flattering and all, but—”

“police investigation.” says sherlock.

“right. Okay, what was the question?”

“Why were you at _Ted’s_ house.” says sherlock.

“right. So Ted implied I’d be interested in being set up with this random woman. and I was… how would you describe the exchange?” she says looking at Mycroft. “wait no. I’ve got it. I was rude and suspected I may have humiliated him. So I went by to let him know it wouldn’t happen again.”

“To his house.” says Greg.

“Well, given it was Sunday, it was safe to assume he’d likely be there and not at his office.”

“and you also know where his office is?” says Lestrade.

“Nope. But I’m sure if I asked around I’d be able to find out.” She responds.

“Ask around?” says lestrade.

She looks at him. “I would ask people who know him where his office is located. Like this. Mycroft, do you know where Ted Johnson’s office is? This doesn’t make me super confident in your abilities if you don’t understand that process.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Says Greg.

“oh. Good. What did you mean?”

“I mean, is that how you knew where he lives? Do you know some of the same people?”

“No. Yes.” she says.

“I’m sorry?” says Lestrade.

“why is it that I have to be here again?” says mycroft.

“because there are two… possibly three lines of investigation. Ted’s death. Who killed him—”  
“we know who killed him—”

“No you don’t.” she says. “I’ll thank you to hold your comments for a moment. So Ted’s death. The who, the why. The connections to the other lines. The second is who socks and briefs is. Where he is. Why he was there. What his connection is with the other lines? And the third is the trafficking ring, which is likely the Bestial Monsters given the set up. The last is likely going to be a larger investigation. An investigation that would benefit from both your resources and expertise, and should be at a minimum of interest to national government, which is you. Three lines of investigation, among three men who have all collaborated before.”

“it sounds like it’s four people are on this investigation.” drawls mycroft.

“You’re right. John isn’t just an implied participator.”

“He meant you.” says Sherlock.

“Well he shouldn’t.” she says.

Sherlock leans back. “No? You seem to have been the one with the reins.”

“been being the operative words. I think I’ve done more than enough to not have my participation required. If my participation hadn’t been necessary to begin with, I’d be in a much better mood, and probably still asleep.”

“required?” says sherlock.

“I’m sorry” she says sarcastically. “I took your lack of urgency for ignorance about the potential imminent mass murder of women and children being held against their will. Am I mistaken? Or does that not inspire urgency for you.”

He holds her eye contact without speaking.

“that’s what I thought.” She says. “Required. By a sense of morality that prevents me from being able to allow myself to be a passive bystander when I am fully aware that I know what others do not and therefore possess an obligation to act, without hesitation. And I know that was the case because if it wasn’t you would be acting with urgency, or better still, the people would have already been found.” She pauses for a moment, and softens her tone. “it’s… I’m sorry. I don’t mean any criticism.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

“How did you know.” interjects Lestrade.

She turns to him.

“How did you know that there would be a door. That there would be people…. prisoners? How did you know that.”

“Sherlock can answer that. I already did that part with him. Ask me your questions about Ted. That’s why you’re here.”

“I’m here because you were the last person to see him alive, and because you knew exactly where the lever to open the door would be.”

“I told you why I saw him. It was to tell him I wouldn’t treat him the way I had, to the extent I had, again. An apology.” She says. “and I knew where it was for the same reason I know you shouldn’t automatically assume the child was the one who killed him.”

“the child was the only person who came in or out—”

“no.” say everyone in the room.

“Here is the hypothetical I believe has happened.” she says. “When we ran into Ted, I think he’d only met with that woman he was with once, although I have no idea. I think it is not Ted, but the woman who is linked to that ring, and I think the link is force. I think she is a victim, being forced to work for them. I believe she’s behind why he was in the building. He may have purchased it if she had strung him along, or she may have confided in him and he was attempting a heroic intervention. I don’t know why he was killed, especially in such a… such a manner as he was. The child may have killed him, or he may not have. Ted and the child were not the only ones to be in that building. There were all those people in that… bunker as you put it. But the three of us recognize that someone lifted Ted by the feet and rotated him so he laid the way he did. This person had to be an adult, and likely a man because of the upper body strength required to lift him high enough so as to not create a smearing pattern. I assumed he had been moved to hide something, and if he was being moved to hide something, it was probably something on the floor since that’s where he was. I checked the area I felt was most likely to show some alteration or difference first, which was the seam. I had thought perhaps the panel lifted or was some kind of trap door, but the space was only big enough for an arm and opened like a slot. I pulled the lever and found the door the same way the rest of us did, because I heard the sound of crying.”

“who is this woman?” says greg.

“I think she’s a matter for national government to pursue, and I don’t think she could possibly have been the other adult present. She didn’t strike me as able to lift a man of approximately two hundred and.. what thirty pounds?”

“forty.” Says Sherlock and Mycroft.

“right. And seeing as she is likely in danger, you and your department do not have the resources or finesse to ensure she keeps breathing.”

“why are you protecting her?” says mycroft. “I’d have thought after the way you treated her…” he trails off looking at her.

“stop doing that.” she says squirming. “and because she needs protection.”

“and you know this, I assume, because—”

“because I realize that a person can be passive not just because they are lazy, but also because they can be hopeless. Hopeless Mycroft. Again, I find I had been required to intervene because I realized that the hopelessness may be exactly what she should feel because she’s on her way to a room exactly like the one we found if ONE false move is made even so much as NEAR her. She cannot know that the police suspect the link because she will be killed for it, the trail will end with just another victim, and there will be no justice. I will explain what I’ve done to provide what little protection I can once Lestrade leaves. All the police need to know is that SOMEONE likely convinced Ted to get that building, or be in it, for the purpose of using and then killing him, and that there was almost certainly a man present at or immediately following his murder, so it’s premature to assume it was the child who killed him. Coffee?” she says, abruptly changing course.

“right.” Says sherlock getting up.

“and you all think this is probably the case?” asks Lestrade.

“yes.” say both mycroft and sherlock. “it does seem possible, although we don’t have all the facts yet.” Says sherlock from the kitchen.

“right.” Says lestrade.

“look into when Ted acquired the building, and tell mycroft. Sherlock should be given complete access to Ted’s remains to investigate the nature of his death and the sequence of events. We didn’t do that on Sunday.”

“hang on.” says lestrade. “but… how are _you_ connected to this man, Ted?”

“oh. right. Ted use to be married to a woman named Collette. She and I were involved for over three years. From just before I turned what I assume is nineteen, until I was somewhere around twenty-two—"

“you assume?” says Lestrade.

She sighs, “I’m not sure when my birthday is.”

“you what?” says lestrade.

She points behind him. “my case. For sherlock.” she says.

“to find out when your birthday is? why would… how would you not know when your birthday is?”

“how do you think, Greg?” She says as he stares at her blankly. “I was adopted.” She says.

“after she was, herself, among those bought and sold within the human trafficking trade.” Says sherlock, handing her coffee.

“you what?” says Greg. “hang on. do you know about these people because—”

“No.” she says, “bestial monsters don’t bother with adoption fraud. Babies don’t beg for mercy.” She says this and pauses taking a sip of coffee. “but, because I was sold myself, I have a personal interest in human trafficking rings. How they work, their history and structures. That’s how I recognized the building. A trafficking ring was broken up about fifteen years ago, and the police investigating believed that building was related but couldn’t find anything.”

“right.” He says. “Right. And this Collette…”

“mm.” she says swallowing the sip of coffee in her mouth. “I have no idea where she might be, although I suppose I could find out. At the time she was an opera singer. _La Serenata._ Her and Ted divorced during that same time frame. Oh, don’t look at me like that.” she says rolling her eyes. “we can’t always help how we meet people. We can help if we let it shape how we feel about them though. Ted’s never treated me unkindly despite my supposed influence over his divorce. I _wasn’t_ involved with it, had no idea-- Oh gross. I’m being defensive.” She says cringing. “doesn’t matter anyway. I went by his house to talk to him about how rude I’d been, and I wouldn’t have bothered if Mycroft hadn’t acted like I’d flipped off the Queen or something. I really hope I wasn’t the last person to see him alive.”

“well… there was evidence of recent sexual—”

“stop.” she says. “no. Are you seriously suggesting—”

“I have to ask.” Says Lestrade. “and I have to take a DNA sample—”  
“don’t spit on him.” says sherlock, seeing the thought cross her mind.

“what?” says greg.

“you’re no fun at all.” she says to sherlock, before turning. “I’m already in the database so if you didn’t get a hit, it wasn’t me.”

“you’re in the database? The police database?”

“I was sold by a human trafficking ring. All those traced to the ring were put in because a few of… us were reunited with birth parents. Julianna Doe. Case.” She says gesturing at the wall again.

“is that what you want?” says Sherlock.

“Who doesn’t want to know where they’re from? It would be nice to know for sure if I have blood relatives or not. What kind of stock I come from. No one’s succeeded so far, but you might. Although it’s definitely not pressing.”

“so to be clear, you weren’t involved in something with Ted.”

“oh for the love of god.” she says.

“not even something…”

“something what?” she says.

“well, you see he was found with some… um.”

She narrows her eyes.

“I have never had sex with Ted.” She says matter of factly.

“well our experts say that what we saw, although sexually related, didn’t require intercourse. He had bruising and was wearing—”

“a chastity cage.” She says.

“a what?” says sherlock.

“a cage that locks around a man’s genitals to make arousal uncomfortable or impossible.”

“How do you know that?” says lestrade.

“because I do?” she says.

“No I mean how do you know he was wearing one?”

“I didn’t _know.”_ she says. “I guessed based on the context of what you were implying. No I did not… whatever you think I did.”

“so if we search your belongings we won’t find the key?” he says.

“do you have a warrant?” she says.

“I do.” He says.

She puts a hand out for the paper. “no you won’t find a key to my ex’s ex’s dick cage in my belongings.” She says. “can you wait until after I’ve been to the doctor?” she says. “you can accompany me there to be sure I don’t run off.”

“I can’t do that.”

“No I don’t mean the search. I mean if you end up arresting me.” she says. “although I think I understand why Scotland Yard needs assistance. This is a level of astonishing incompetence.”

Greg groans annoyed.

“Ted is a submissive. He was married to a woman named collette. I was also involved with the same collette. I don’t call her my girlfriend. I say involved. Together. We have collette in common. Ted was with someone recently who was a dominant. He ran into me and thought I might like the woman he was with at the time. Maybe there’s a reason he thinks he knows my taste, because we had such similar _tastes_ that we both had long-term partnerships with the same person. Do you see where I’m going with this?” she says looking at him.

Greg looks at her with some confusion.

“Upstairs you will find equipment of that nature, including a key to a chastity device, but it matches with one made for a woman.” she says gesturing at herself. “there will be my DNA, on the _receiving_ end of this equipment. And Ted’s DNA won’t be there. I could never be his _dominant…”_ she says standing. She lifts her shirt, exposing the lash and welts across her own back, the edge of her healing winged bruise peeking out. _“_ Our leanings are _similar_ , you see.” she says dropping her shirt down and sitting down again uncomfortable. “Similar as in one the same side of the spectrum, and therefore, not _complimentary._ Now I did not invite you to see that because I wanted to invite you into my _marriage_ bedroom, and I really fucking hope you won’t discuss our sex lives with your department. All you need to know is it couldn’t be me.”

Greg puts a hand up to his face in shock.

“it got a little bit out of hand and went farther then we anticipated. I’m hurt somewhere where I don’t want, for example, John to look, and I’m not actually telling my brother why he’s taking me to a doctor today and not after Julian used my head and shoulders as a battering ram. I am deeply upset about what happened to Ted, someone I’ve known for years, and who was very close to being something like a friend. To have seen him…” she trails off her eyes watering and pinches herself unconsciously.

“Don’t do that.” says Sherlock. She looks at him questioningly and he nods down.

She looks down. “Oh. yes sir—Sherlock.” she says, as if covering for a slip. Sherlock moves a bit. “Sorry.” she says. “ _Shit_. My headspace really is all fucked up.” she says and tears well in her eyes. She shakes her head. “fuck.” she says softly, looking up and swallowing. “Greg. I’m… I’m _scared.”_ She says. “but I swear to you, I am not involved in Ted’s murder. I mean Jesus Christ Greg, I was HERE. Ted was probably dying while I was sitting exactly where I am now feeling sorry for myself. Ted who would never hurt anybody.” She says beginning to really cry. “He told me his daughter was getting married in the spring.” She sobs out. “he said he was worried about Collette being there, but he was so excited to give Jenny away. And now…” her face is pained. “oh god.” she says curling into herself.

Greg swallows hard, a sympathetic reaction clogging his throat with some emotion.

“are you going to arrest my crying wife now?” says Sherlock.

“I… She really did just guess it?”

Sherlock nods, and Julie makes an effort to control herself. “can I have a piece of paper and a pen?” she says. “I’ll write out contact information for anyone you might want to contact, but Greg, I’ve only been in England since midmorning on Saturday. I think I have my passport somewhere too which probably has dates. Before Sunday I hadn’t seen Ted since… January I think. And this… all of this.” she says gesturing. “I don’t want to meet the poor bastard whose had a harder go of trying to settle down, and everything to do with this hits me in really vulnerable, personal places. Children forever separated from their real family. Someone I cared about being absolutely torn apart like…” she can’t get the words out. “I mean I find out he’s dead because sherlock’s showing me a crimes scene photo, and then I recognize the building and have to see him? Touch—” she sobs and gasps. “and all while I feel like garbage because _my_ closest friend put me through a wall, and all of the friends I’ve traveled with won’t even… And  I have to be utterly _humiliated_ by discussing my sex life in front of my husband’s brother and a police officer, which could well mean it will be a matter of police record forever and all I want to do is find literally anything that will get the image of Ted like that out of my head.” she says. “every time I stop for a second— How do I make it stop?” she says pleading.

“okay. shh. It’s okay Julia—” they just hear footsteps on the stairs, Sherlock and Mycroft turning toward the door, but Julie doesn’t notice as she cries out.

“No it isn’t! How is ANY of this okay?!” she says louder than she means to. John arrives through the door to see Julie crying, mycroft standing awkwardly, Greg looking a bit overwhelmed and lost and Sherlock looking stone-faced.

“What’s going on?” says John.

“please don’t make me do this again in front of John? He’s already seen so much and to go into that detail again—”

“why are you crying?” says John.

“because I’m UPSET.” She says irritated and overwhelmed. “People do that when they’re upset.”

John comes over out of instinct, stopping closer as she speaks. “okay.” he says. “Is there anything I can do? Sherlock?” he says looking at sherlock.

He shakes his head. “Lestrade has a search warrant. He suspects Julie was involved in that man’s murder. He’s absolutely wrong of course, and judging by his expression he’s realized that, but not before he made her tell him _very_ personal details about our sex life.”

John looks shocked for a minute.

“I’m sorry, WHAT?” says John.

“oh god.” she says covering her face.

“I’m sorry.” says Lestrade. “I had to ask. I was just—”

“doing your _job?”_ she says. “I thought you were here because you found it suspicious that I did your job so well.” She says, before waving a hand tiredly. “No look. I’ve answered your questions. I know about human trafficking because I’ve been sold by human traffickers, and because I hoped knowing about them might lead me to knowing where I actually come from. What name I might have actually been given instead of the one I _picked._ When I _was born_. I know who Ted is because he’s my ex’s ex, which is also ancient history and no one’s business, just like whatever sexual or sexual adjacent activity you discovered when examining his brutally murdered coh—” her breath catches, her eyes shimmering. “I can’t—every time I shut my eyes I see him. That’s not how I want to remember him, and somehow you’ve managed to make that memory even worse—oh my god the papers.” She says. “That detail isn’t going to be in the pap— oh my god Geneva.” She says. “you can’t—this can’t be—oh god.” she says trailing off with a mix of profound stunned sadness, a hand up to her chest. “oh god.” she repeats.

Lestrade leans forward. “We’re going to do what we can to keep it away from the media.”

“that’s not comforting.” She says.

“If you’re going to search her possessions, you should get on with it Lestrade. You know when Cal will be arriving to pick her up, so if you’re going to capitalize on the mortification you’ve already brought my wife, you can time a ridiculous arrest for when her brother is here.”

“I didn’t mean to—” starts Lestrade passionately before softening his voice. “I’m sorry Julia. I didn’t mean to embarrass—”

“humiliate.” She corrects. “you asked me to parade some of my most private, vulnerable memories and private matters in front of you, so you could continue a clumsy and wasteful investigation. This is way more than embarrassment.” She says.

“I’m sorry.” he says. “really Julia. I am.”

She shrugs. “I know.” she says softly. “well. I guess go search my stuff, and I’ll make this alibi list.” She says.

Lestrade sighs a bit, and says, “so you do have an alibi for Sunday?”

“I don’t know that I’ve been alone for longer then the length of time it takes to take a shower. But yes. I didn’t leave Baker Street since you saw me stumble in after I was used as a battering ram. Sherlock was with me here, Annie was here for quite some time… her brother Julian was here. I’m not for sure on the time but—”

“The Moncrieff siblings left at approximately 9:43 in the evening.” Says Sherlock.

“Hang on. Julian, the one—”

“Annie insisted on Julian apologizing.” She says simply.

“I should think so.” says John. “apologize.” He scoffs.

She smiles a bit at John, before turning to Greg. “Does that about cover it?” She says. “or is there…”

“I’m going to… I do have to search your belongings still.”

She cringes. “I don’t… I want you to understand that asking me to discuss this, and then still go through what little I actually own on top of that. This is harassment Greg. Maybe not by the legal definition, but I feel… just… violated.”

Greg swallows hard.

“is this really necessary Greg?” says John.

“I had to pull a lot of strings just to come here alone. I have to follow through.” He responds, and stands up before pausing. “you said upstairs.”

She looks at him blankly.

“Why would your stuff be upstairs?”

She sighs. “Two reasons. One, the people who know we are together are very limited. And Two, because upstairs is… well it’s where…” she seems to struggle.

“Where the games take place, you could say.” says sherlock.

John furrows his eyebrows.

She nods once looking mortified. Greg looks embarrassed too, his skin flushing at his neck.

“and it’s in… post game condition.” She says, swallowing hard herself.

“… right.” Says Greg.

“just try not to… touch anything you don’t—Maybe sherlock can help at least. I just don’t want anyone else touching—” she stops and cringes. “this is horrible.”

Sherlock stands up and walks to Greg.

“I’m not going to find any…” starts Greg.

“oh god. find what?” she says.

“well any drugs?” says Lestrade. “I mean I don’t believe—”  
“oh for fuck’s sake. it wasn’t fucking cocaine. MY friends…. Or the people who were my friends, are assholes. They think it’s hilarious to pack flour like that and sneak it into each other’s stuff to fuck with customs. I have two medications, with prescriptions, specifically to try and prevent me from having a stroke because m heart decided beating with consistency was for the birds. Atrial fibrillation. Do you want my fucking medical records too?”

“Julie.” Says sherlock warningly. She nods after a split second, and sherlock nods back. “Are we going up?” Says sherlock and walking up without waiting, moving through the room and touching the equipment handles in quick covert swipes, tossing it all on the bed, as Greg comes in. Greg stops at the door and his face goes pale. The room is a mess, and there is some blood on the sheets.

“I expect some professionalism.” Says Sherlock. “I’ll put these materials—” he says swinging a paddle. “on the bed while you look through her regular belongings.”

Greg nods, and clears his throat.

“Gloves!” says sherlock.

* * *

 

Downstairs once greg leaves she turns to mycroft.

“Woman thinks I’m a Pandora girl, and is being reviewed for invitation to BV by Sybarite.”

“Am I suppose to understand—”

“BV, Bon Vivants. Pandora the cathouse in the Corridor. Woman believes that I had to be rude because I’d lose my madam’s management if I worked with a girl whose management was different. Upstairs was to have her alone enough for conversation, and to breed trust so she might tell me, or at least be able to cover for coming her to talk to sherlock. Do you understand now?”

He nods. “yes.” he says drawls.

“are you going to be consistent with this?” she says.

“I can be, although I’m surprised you would care enough to go to—”  
“I don’t. Same reason I threw myself into the crime scene.”

“which—”

“was exactly what I said it was. An obligation to not be just a passive bystander.”

“and you know—”

“yes. obviously.” she says. “if you can help push through her invite—”

“then I’ll be putting a lot of people at risk.” he says.

“Because nothing risky or unethical ever happens within the… oh wait.” She says with sarcastic false realization. “Oh, everything that happens would be considered somewhere on the gambit between profligacy and ethical corruption. She’ll fit right in, and if she’s involved with this group, her safety is improved, and it’s very likely you’d be able to know if she tried to barter, using membership as leverage and protection.”

“and if she’s not a victim—”

“I left sherlock’s gun with the tracer on it in plain sight and with availability for her to take. Would she really risk stealing a weapon from a man who is bound to notice she did unless she was in significant danger? If she was at the top, she wouldn’t even look twice at it. But she did look, and she did take it. That speaks to desperation… and trouble. Victim then.”

“… Impressive.” says Mycroft, genuinely. “very impressive, for just a simple vagrant musician.”

“Backhanded compliments aren’t compliments Mycroft. Listen though. I need to know you won’t mess up this setup, because I don’t want to attract any attention if I can help it with these people.”

“Do you feel they have something they could exploit?”

“If our marriage were made known, yes of course. Sherlock and I would be leverage that could be used against us. I’d hope sherlock wouldn’t succumb to it, but I don’t want to lose my life over this. And if the situation were switched, I’d fail. Now it can’t be known until some progress has been made with this, similar to the way Sherlock being married would have ruined his ability to work Janine over.”

“So you’re seducing miss addler—”

“yes.” she says, without hesitation. “and/or that she has seduced me. I sincerely hope you make progress with this ring because I would like to avoid needing to keep going. I’m miserable. I hate this, and its bullshit.” she says. “those people may well have died if I hadn’t marched in there and did something and if I could have stopped to actually think about what I was doing I would have just told Sherlock what I suspected, but I wouldn’t know I did everything I could if I didn’t do it myself, and if I stopped to think about it I would have frozen up because this is… what’s the word? Triggering? I am moments away from a breakdown because all of this is freaking me the hell out. Those emotions—they are one hundred percent real. I feel violated. I _was_ violated, stupid bitch, and Ted really deserves better than all of this mess. Will you do what you can to keep all of this out of the papers, please? For the woman’s safety, for Ted’s reputation, and for his daughter Geneva, who already has to live with knowing her father won’t be there to give her away, or dance with her, or be there for her ever again. please.” she says.

“and for you?” asks Mycroft.

“Ted’s death has nothing to do with me. I’m sure I’ll end up in the papers anyway because Collette will be there. She’s Geneva’s mother after all. I wouldn’t be surprised if she makes a very public acknowledgement that the ‘lover’ she supposedly left him for had the audacity to come to his funeral.”

“It isn’t exactly necessary for you to be present—” says Mycroft.

“no.” she says. “My last memory of Ted is not going to be seeing his coh—” she cuts off again, wincing and making a pained grunting sob deep in her throat, her eyes welling up again as she looks up, pushing air out forcefully to try and control her emotions. “that can’t be my last memory of him. I can’t have seen him… like that… and not see him laid to rest. And Collette can suck my clit, kiss my ass, eat a bag of shit covered dicks, and go fuck herself.”

“how very… colorful.” Says Mycroft. she lets out a soft chuckle.

“Mm. Well. Oh, I guess I should delete the first of those. I don’t mean she can literally do that, because that is never going to happen. But the sentiment stands. I know it would make Ted irritated to have that in the papers when it never made it there when it was actually happening, but he’d be happy to know I don’t care what Collie tries to pull with me. Are you going to help, in all the ways you should, or are you going to interfere with keeping it consistent?”

“And what specifically am I supposed to help with?”

“Oh, is your expected role not clear?” she asks, genuinely. “I would have thought… Okay well, as I implied, people at your level and you yourself to some extent would be investigating the details related to the ring. You’ll have more frequents access the monitor the woman without it being overly suspicious. Although you NEED to resist your impulse to be so obvious about your surveillance. It’s unnecessary, and risky to follow her every move. The two prongs laid now are foster trust with her, while hunting for them. If you catch the them, she’ll be freed. If she trusts myself or Sherlock, she can provide details, but if there is no trust she won’t help you. She’ll panic and shut down and probably do stupid things like let on she knows help is trying to get to her. You’d also need to never indicate what I’ve said is… implying a truth that isn’t the case, and of course, keep the BVs secret, which includes my pretending to be a working girl. I implied to Miss Addler that I am actually a form of dominatrix with the group, which implies I do the work I like without risking enjoying it too much—”

“which would put you right back in police light.”

“Correct. And it’s a detail I can use if needed to keep her out of the light, should it come to that. Even a tool to create that trust I was talking about. Nothing breeds trust like going to jail for someone. So basically all the things related with keeping her at least safe to the extent we can without putting at more risk through the effort, and investigating the ring itself because Scotland Yard is clearly out of their depth. If you can persuade Greg that my involvement in the case needs to be secret, especially given my history, that would be excellent though. Can you do these things, and if you can’t, which of them—”

“none of those things will be a problem, except the… B.V.” he says mocking her.

“You won’t be associated with her invitation. I’m not asking you to help get her in, just use it if she does. She will though. Addler won’t be able to resist visiting Pandora at least once as a member. She knows about it. She might even have been there as a guest before, since she recognized the Hall tokens and knew having a key would be adequate confirmation of my ‘working’ for Sybarite.”

“Sybarite, I assume is the most powerful woman in England you were referring to.”

“For arguments sake, sure. And we really do play scrabble together. She’ll be here later tonight actually if you’d like to come play with us. I think she’d appreciate a quality player considering I can’t make it to hers for the game. Seven here and if you come bring ‘nibbles.’” She says in a false British accent, smiling a bit for the first time before her face drops again. “So will you help?”

“Yes.”

“Thank Christ and thank you.” she says. “I have an additional favor to ask.” She says and pauses.

“they’ll be down in a minute or so.”

She shrugs. “not a problem for it to be known I asked. I understand you don’t have much control over this, but can you please try and keep the papers from dragging Teddy’s reputation through the muck?”

“Which muck specifically?” says mycroft.

“As much of it as possible. His death I am almost entirely sure has nothing to do with his _tastes.”_ She says. “and I’m also fairly certain he wasn’t actually involved, and may have been there because he was trying to do something stupid and heroic, or because he was used.” They hear Sherlock and Greg coming down the stairs, but she continues, “All that should matter though is that he was murdered, and that he’ll be missed.” The boys enter the room, and pause listening as mycroft speaks.

“and you want me to do this for you?”

“I want you to do your best to protect his privacy and his reputation, for Ted, and for his daughter Geneva. But if doing it for me, as your secret sister in law, then for me. Because I’d feel terrible knowing I didn’t do what I could to try and keep his privacy being further violated, and because I know how awful it would be for Geneva. It’s already bad enough to never see her father again, without needing to tarnish her memory of him. I know you can’t prevent that, but will you do what you can? Please.”

Mycroft nods.

“Thank you.” she says softly.

“Julia.” Says Greg. She shuts her eyes. “I don’t really want to look at you right now Greg. What else do you want.” she says turning her head and looking at Sherlock’s chair.

Greg swallows.

“I have to take some things with me. To examine if it caused the same marks.”

She turns and looks at him. “because an alibi isn’t enough?”

“Because I have to follow through with the warrant.”

“What are you—wait.” she says looking at mycroft and John, before standing up carefully and walking toward him, trying not to wince, as she comes up to Greg. She takes him out into the hall. “If we can avoid specific details… in front of other people… what are you taking?”

“I have to take the whips.” He says. “and I thought maybe I should ask—”

“okay. but they won’t be the same. All of the stuff up there was bought…” she clears her throat. “I asked my brother to go by someone’s place and pick up ‘a complete bedroom set.’ Along with the bed. It’s all new. I have credit with her. I… She’s a working girl. She packed it all up in some luggage so that my brother wouldn’t know exactly what it was, although he probably suspected. You might find her finger prints on it too since she went and purchased it for me, unpackaged it—oh god I hope she didn’t… well I’m sure she’d buy new for me since I asked her too. She knows I’m… persnickety. We’ve had… an arrangement.” She whispers.

Greg looks even more shocked.

“She might have the receipt. Or receipts. I really don’t want her to get involved if I can help it, but the black duffel bag and the suitcase were what they were packed in. I don’t know if that’s important. I can possibly get the receipts for you. I can ask if she has them, if that will also help and she… well she might be able to provide some expertise, especially if it means you won’t investigate her personally or report her to whatever… vice equivalent you have.”

“she isn’t the woman you saw with Ted.”

“I told you. That woman wasn’t someone I’d ever met before. A stranger. She might just be a woman he was dating. He told me when I apologized that he was just joking… coming from his own insecurities. A nod to the fact that I’d ‘stolen’ Collette. I can call her and ask. I can call her now actually. And Cal will be here soon and can confirm he brought the… stuff here. Although if we can avoid telling him what he brought, that would be great. If he has to know, it should be my choice to share it with him.”

Greg nods. “That would definitely help.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.” She says irritated, pulling her phone out. She goes to sherlock and puts a hand on him. “I’m calling Angela to see if she has the receipts, and would come talk to Greg.”

Sherlock nods, and keeps his forearm against hers in a supportive way.

She dials and after a moment she speaks.

“Angela. Hi. Listen I’m actually calling about something serious. Do you have the receipts for the ‘bedroom’ set? I need… well I need to show I’ve only owned them since Monday morning… Well, don’t hang up. You won’t get into any trouble but it’s for the police. You know how cops love to think—no you wouldn’t be assumed to be involved. You might actually be able to help, if they need someone to examine injuries. You could give them some direction on the gear used.”

She pauses listening.

“Yes, well, you know how people are. They assume if you yourself have engaged as a submissive—” she pauses listening. “Yes. There was someone else on a receiving end. Someone I knew, but obviously not like that, since he and I are into being treated the same and therefore couldn’t treat each other that way. Can you come here? to my new flat? This is what I get for picking a roommate who’s a detective. I thought it would be entertaining but I didn’t anticipate this. It’s 221B Baker Street. I have the officer here if you’d like—okay.” she says and hands the phone to Greg.

“hello.”

_Hello officer. So you need receipts?_

“It would be helpful—”

_I do actually have it. It’s just one. A couple of them were cash only. Made by a specialist. Are there specific items or do you need all of them?_

Greg steps out. “We have to examine the whips.”

_Which ones?_

“I… well I don’t know what they are called.”

_No. of course not. And this is because you suspect Jollie of being involved some crime? Is the woman still alive? I’m on my way now._

“it wasn’t a woman, and no.”

 _A MAN?!_ The sound of laughter. _You think she—wow. Do you have photos for me to look at? I can help you weed down if you need to, and I can maybe find someone with more expertise then mine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes._

* * *

 

Angela arrives. She’s a woman in her mid to late forties, possibly even her early fifties, of remarkably attractive looks. Her hair is still red, colored over to hide grays. She has large green eyes and is remarkably tall. She wears heels that put her at almost sherlock’s height. She’s with a very petite girl with black hair cropped short, and an enormous but almost baby-faced man. Julie stands when she sees him.

“Jake.” She says.

He takes a step back. “holy shit.” He says walking over. “Angela why didn’t you say it was for—oh Jollie. I forgot about that it’s been so long.”

“Another ex?” says sherlock.

“uegh.” She says and he laughs. “Yeah, no.” he says. “what do you mean another ex? Did you and Annie break up?”

She nods. “yes, but that’s not who he means.”

“Cold-Blood?” he asks. She nods.

“mm. Did you hear about—”

“no, and I don’t care to.” she interrupts. “this isn’t a social call.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t get one of these.” He says hugging her close and she intakes breath harshly. He let’s go, and looks at her with some startle, and when her feet plant she buckles a bit. “ooh sorry. I didn’t realize—oh pale.” He says. “sorry I didn’t mean to… are you okay?” he says.

“No I’m not fucking okay. Police.” She says. “why are you here?”

“Angela said you needed more expert opinions.”

“well… yes probably. Although I don’t know if Greg—Detective Inspector Lestrade has photos. The one’s I saw had him still dressed, and they were…” she shakes her head blinking.

“Him?” he says. “you’re suspected of being involved with a man?”

“oh for the love of, I’m not actually gay Jake.”

“really?” he says looking at her. “since when?”

“since always. I just avoid them because they can get me pregnant.”

He laughs once. “miss- Mizz.” He corrects pointing. “mizz practicality.”

“Jake.” She says warningly. “my roommate, who knows about my taste since I live upstairs, and a whole bunch of people who I really wish didn’t. Can he fill you in on whatever you _need_ to know?” she says to Mycroft.

“it would be my preference. Should I put a call into a lawyer?”

“Ted’s brother in law, Franklin will represent me if necessary, or provide a referral, but I think for now at least we’re okay.”

“right. Good morning.” says mycroft and her and sherlock nod.

“Do you need whipped cream?” he asks looking at her.

“Have you got some?”

“oh shit. I didn’t think you’d need it.” says Angela.

She shrugs.

“I take it you don’t mean the dessert topping.” Says Sherlock.

“pun.” Says Julie. “Do you have the receipts though?” she asks to Angela.

“Receipt. And those not on it I bought from Jake.” She says. “Cash.”

“So what is the expert opinion you need? Someone with injuries and you want me to weed down the options?”

“That… yes.” says Lestrade.

“Well. do you have pictures?”

Lestrade takes out his phone, and Jake walks over.

“How do you know Julie?” he says.

“Julia? How many names have you got?” says Jake. “I’m a dungeon master for a local place, and I make specialty items because some of the crap people come in with are just garbage. I’ve monitored scene’s she’s had before, although it’s been a few years.” He says. “and before you act, by monitored I mean I’m basically a security guard, so I walk around and make sure people don’t do anything too dangerous, and kick out the one’s that do. So what am I looking at?”

“Basically proving none of the gear upstairs is related to this person, based on length of time, and any other proof it wouldn’t be me. I can try and forget what I hear you describe, but I wouldn’t be able to forget seeing photos.”

“well let me see.” he says and looks at the first photo before immediately taking in a breath. “Theo! Oh my god. Is he dead?”

She nods.

“oh my… someone you knew. Of course.” he says. “and they think you might have been involved? GOD coppers are stupid. Listen to me mr detective.” He says. “I remember when Cold-Blood—”

“Collette.” She supplies.

He rolls his eyes. “Cold-Blood Collie suggested the two of them be in a scene with her together. Jack gagged at the thought, punched Collette in the face, and made it clear that she didn’t consent now, wouldn’t consent to it ever, and if Collie couldn’t deal with it then their relationship was over, and it wasn’t up for discussion. Collie just about lost her mind at having a sub talk to her like that, and Jack had me escort her out. People who were there still talk about it. _I_ actually talk about it during education nights. Informed consent, hard boundaries, and the importance of always being clear about new elements before starting a scene. There is no chance in hell that Jack would ever be present for something like that. The closest to a game they have ever played was jack’s total and complete expression of disgust at the idea of ever being involved with him in any way. The closest to any activity even remotely like that was her expression of total disgust at the idea of even considering being with him, which was then ruined of course because she was more disgusted with Collie for it. Although they did use it—”

“stop!” she says Julie. “I do NOT want to know what happened after I left, or anything that happened between Teddy and his ex-wife. Really Jake?” she says angrily, and her face goes a bit green. “fucking disgust—” she says and does heave a little.

He laughs. “See.” says Jake. “I know when I have seen them both at the same event, which wasn’t often, Jack was nice and civil with him because she knew he’d be into it if she wasn’t.”

“which is why I came by his house. I was rude which was a slip and I was apologizing, but more so because he shouldn’t get his hopes up that I’d be rude to him again because…ew.” She says.

Sherlock looks at her. “really?”

She nods. “mm.” she says. “although he said it was ruined anyway because I said he was too good for that random woman. Thank god.” she says, before shivering a bit with some disgust before shaking herself. “but I doubt any of that anecdote is proof it wasn’t me.”

“right. Well I know what I provided so I’ll check with Angela on the rest. You.” he says to the woman. “sit there.” he points and the woman walks over to the couch and sits, not saying a word. “my pet.” He says to Lestrade. “in case you needed expert opinions from a bottom.” He smiles at the girl and she offers a smile back.

“you can speak.” He says. “should you wish.”

She nods. “hi Jack.” She says.

“hi Louisa.” She says back.

Sherlock steps over and gestures. “please, show us your expertise.” He says.

Jake looks closely at the photos, zooming in.

“God. Lazy sadists.” He says shaking his head. “Jack’s no sadist, and definitely not a lazy one. I can tell you immediately one thing I know neither Angela or I would have included. This mark is from a humbler.” He says pointing. “it presses to the back of the legs and clamps around the testicles. Recently on here is a vampire paddle… and electro kit as well.”

“a what?” says sherlock.

“a kit with electrodes and pads and stuff. This here, the small red squares would probably correlate to an electro sex kit, and a monopolar one since it has two.”

“I definitely have never given Jollie that.” says Angela.

“Julie has a heart condition. She absolutely couldn’t use something like that.”

“which means this here definitely wouldn’t be here as well. Probably an Electro-stim paddle. The blister here, is from a spencer paddle and I’m guessing Theo said no on that since there’s just the one hit. Whoever did this either didn’t practice with it before, or doesn’t care if she—he? probably she though, I’ve never known him to play with men so probably she might not care if she raises blisters. A lot of paddling though so she might be a professional. And vampire paddle—”

Angela shakes her head. “no to all of those. We put three in but the most intense would be—”

“is that necessary to specify?” asks Julie.

“You should take pictures of what she has versus what was used. But Jack don’t be such a pussy about it.” says Louisa from the couch. Everyone is briefly shocked.

“What?” she says. “There’s no shame to this and I’m a little offended she’s being so—”

“Private Louisa. Jesus. I like privacy and you already know that, little one.” she says. Louisa sighs. “I guess. But if you want to be cleared that’s how you do it. I would know.” she says.

“it would.” Says Jake. “twice she’s been investigated, and three times I have been. One of those was the both of us, and it totally was us with the person the night before. That sucked.” He says. “poor guy, and it was a straight forward OD but you know the stigma. What were you saying Angela?”

“She’s got a furry for warm up, a knoppler, and the two I had you add. An imprint and a short board incase her taste had intensified since the last time she’d gotten anything.”

“by and large the type that don’t leave much mark, except the imprint. You should have told me it was for jack. I’ll send you the kind you actually like.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Louisa. Table.” He says and louisa stands up and climbs on the table.

“uh.” Says lestrade.

Jake lifts her skirt and reveals her bare ass and julie covers her face, but she’s smiling. “you are officially making this so much more awkward, which makes it less awkward for me.” she says to jake. Louisa wiggles on purpose and they both laugh, as julie turns away and looks up trying to find a straight face.

“an education, inspector lestrade. This.” he says pointing. “and this.” he says pointing. “come from this.” he says pulling a round paddle with needle sharp pins, and smacks louisa with it. “see. and I know for a fact… what is it jack said—”

“if you like an ass why would you ruin it?” says Louisa. “I get enjoying being marked, but branded? And such an ugly brand?”

“I hate you.” she says to both of them.

“say it again.” says louisa, and julie makes a face, to which louisa sticks out her tongue.

“As for the whips… This _could be_ either a snake or a bull whip. These whips are constructed in a way where the handle and the plait are constructed from the same plait, so it’s often one long continuation. A soft handle as opposed to a rigid one I doubt it would be consistent with what I sent, since she prefers a pocket snake to full size. Quieter, less intense, easier to control. This one here.” he says pointing at louisa and running a finger across. “is from a bull, but I have a lot of practice, so it’s hard to see the difference between that and a snake. At least that would be my guess. Again, I’ll bet Theo said no to it because there’s just the two, and the cross makes me think it was a move like this.” he says pulling a small whip from his pocket which he cracks before snapping it in an ex motion. Louisa tenses a bit and makes a noise, as Jake touches her skin with a palm to dull the sting. “most amateurs—”  
he stops as cal comes into the room.

“you’re early.” Says jack.

“what in the world?” he says.

“hi Cal.” says Jake.

“oh. Oh!” he says. “did you schedule some kind of private educational seminar for your new friends?”

“sure.” she says. “do I need to stay or can i—”

“All the evidence points to your innocence. You’re free to go, Julia.” Says lestrade.

“wait… what?” says Cal. “is this—oh. Oh god! You think… Oh gross that stuff you had me—”

She shuts her eyes. “awe. Some.” she says. Cal looks at Sherlock.

“don’t look at him like that. He’s my roommate, and it’s awkward enough already.” She says. Cal holds a long look at her.

“Is this why you need a doctor?”

“you need a doctor?!” says louisa. “you?!”

“unacceptable. Bring this Annie, or whoever your partner is by because they should know better.” Says Jake.

“Jake. Add educating people on making sure you aren’t trying to use the headspace to escape something. A fucked headspace can easily lead to going too far, and saying yellow when you mean red, out of desperation for it to work the way you want.”

“oh Jackie.” Says Jake. “well… whatever. still bring them. still unacceptable. It’s a top’s responsibility to ensure your safety. Fucking rediculious.”

She shrugs. “I’ll see you around Jake.” She says softly but stops. “will you be there when the funeral comes round? I’d feel better if you were there. Especially considering… that collie will—”

“yes.” he says. “I’ll leave my number. Just say when and where.”

She nods, her eyes welling up as she looks off into space before shaking herself. “don’t ask me anything about this Cal. please. just help me get the hell out of here.”

He nods and picks her up, nodding goodbye to the group and without a word takes her down the stairs.

“you were saying.” Says sherlock. “bull or snake. Not pocket snake though.”

“right.” Says Jake. “not pocket. To thick a welt. and whoever it was switched to a flogger, but I’d bet it was made of horsehair, given the marks. Horsehair has little stinging barbs that can leave scratches. Across his back are probably from a stock whip—”

Sherlock phone beeps and he glances.

“Julie asks that anything Lestrade takes just be replaced.”

Jake nods.

“a stock whip would be the kind with a long, rigid separate handle.”

“exactly.”

“right. Okay.” says Greg. “I guess those are what I’ll have to bring. Julia said that she ran into Mr Johnson with some woman she didn’t recognize. Would you have any idea who that could be?” says Greg.

“So you can go harass them as well?” says Jake. “do you really think it was a woman who was involved.”

“We have to rule them out.”

Jake shrugs. “Theo was always partial to anonymity, especially as he got more experimental. The last round of girls I knew he played with were all strangers to him, and that was four months ago? Louisa would you say four?”

“and change.” says louisa. “it was his birthday.”

“oh, that’s right!” he says. “nothing like mortality to make you want to flirt with danger. Get down.” he says. she flattens to the table and he pulls her legs.

“stand.” He says and she does so. “very good. you look at these.” He says and louisa looks through, making a bit of a sad face.

“whoever this person is, they aren’t very respectful of boundaries, or at least adamant to test them. Ted was always specific about no marks from the waist up. He must have liked it though… unless he was unconscious for it of course.”

“We didn’t find any drugs in the tox screen, but there was some weird…. Around some of his injuries were these black spots and strange coloration to his skin, so we suspect he was poisoned first, and that it was processed out or we just haven’t detected it yet.”

“We don’t allow drug use at the venue because we don’t want them brought in, but people do show up affected. It’s not that uncommon, although I’d find it surprising in Theo’s case—”

“no wait.” says Louisa. “I heard about this. There are a few girls who are working with pharmaceuticals. I heard about it. You should talk to –”

“silence.” Says Jake and she stops, but rolls her eyes.

“I’m not police. I’ll examine the body and if it’s necessary to persue that line of questioning, I’ll be in touch.”

Jake nods. “that works I suppose. Is there any other way I can help now?”

“Confirm if you know the objects were purchased on Monday.”

* * *

 

“I’ll send replacements today.” Says the man called Jake. “if you’ll let her know. I assume you saw who did what happened upstairs.”

“yes.” says sherlock.

“Well if you see them again, you tell them to do better. I distinctly remember after the first time she had blood drawn she lost her mind about it, and it was a lot less than that. Just a teeny mark that wasn’t likely to leave scars. That really is unacceptable.”

“you seem very knowledgeable about her preferences.”

Jake shrugs. “not really. You learn a lot about people when you check in on them or observe. She’s very—”

“don’t care.” says sherlock waving it away. The man nods. “Right. Of course.”

“Sound proofing.” Says sherlock looking at the both of them.

“Sorry?” says Angela.

“Sound proofing. For upstairs. Do you have any advice?”

“Oh… right. That’s probably a hell of a thing to put up to when it comes to what you overhear.” Says Angela. “Jake do you think—Would she mind if we came back and threw carpeting and the like up?”

“She’d appreciate it, and if she doesn’t, I insist on it. Today?”

“We can be back in about an hour.” Says Jake.

He nods. “do that.” he says, and the three leave. Lestrade lingers.

“Yes?” asks Sherlock. He waits. “I am sorry.”

“Yes.” says sherlock. “well continue to keep our relationship close, as way of apology.”

He nods. “I’ll—”

“you will.” Says Sherlock. “She isn’t responsible for this, you know she isn’t, and it would be a waste of time and resources to continue to investigate it.”

He nods and steps out.

“Well.” says John. “that was…”

“educational.” Says sherlock.

“not the word I would have used.” Says John.

“and what word would you have used.”

“Awkward comes to mind.” Says John.

“What did she discuss with Mycroft while I was upstairs?” asks Sherlock sitting back down in his chair.

“Oh. Right. Mycroft said he’d keep consistent with what she laid out, and would be investigating the ring. And that he was impressed with her.”

“Yes. It has been impressive.” says sherlock, putting his fingers together. “Raises questions, but…” he says and shrugs. “fascinating.” He says.

“What is?” says John.

Sherlock flops his arms at the arms of the chair. “Hungry?” he asks.

“Sorry?”

“Are you hungry?” says Sherlock. “I’m thinking of picking up some food for the fridge. She didn’t take more than two bites of her toast, which is all she’s eaten in a few days. I suppose I should still be here while they proof the room upstairs anyway, so we can’t very well go running off to the mortuary. I’m thinking Chinese would tempt her.” Sherlock stands up and tosses his dressing gown, sliding on his jacket as he makes his way downstairs to his coat. John follows behind him. “It’s only ten in the morning.”

“mm. maybe we’ll hit somewhere else first, so they have time to open.”

 

 

 


	12. Solve Some, Leave Off The Rest

## Chapter 12: Solve Some, Leave Off The Rest

Cal helps her up the stairs and stops at the foot letting her down and she touches him. “Who is upstairs?” she calls.

“Your ‘Jake’ and “Angela.’ Installing carpeting and foam to help with sound. And they brought replacement for what lestrade took.”

“Your idea?”

“For replacing?”

“No soundproofing. Duh.” She says.

“Oh. Yes.” He says. “Did you feed her?” he asks Cal before he says anything.

“Feed—”

“No.” she says. “Just there and back. I have to go back within the next three weeks, and she said if I should abstain for eight weeks. Eight fucking—” she stops and laughs. “or eight no-fucking weeks.”

“What the hell happened?” says Cal.

“None of your business.” She says to him.

“Like hell it—”

She turns to him and whispers. His eyes go wide and then he looks at her and begins to laugh. “WHAT?”

“god I miss Julian. You’re a terrible person to confide in.” she says.

“Oh, fuck you.” he says. “and why do you miss Julian?”

“I would have thought Annie would have… Have you not heard from Annie?” she says turning to him.

“No. I’ve been working. Why?”

“explanations just never end.” she says. “no. I’m done. Not important anyway. JAKE!” she shouts startling them.

He pokes his head out. “GOD DAMN you are LOUD! Two minutes!” he calls.

“TAKE PICTURES!” she calls.

“WHY?! Why not just come and… oh.” he says. “WHO THE HELL DID YOU SEE?”

“JUST TAKE PICTURES.” She calls up, before turning. “Were you asking if he fed me because—”

“Chinese food in the fridge.” He says.

“Oh hell yes.” she says. “You are the best.” She says walking over with a touch more slowness then normal and grapping a container. John gets up and offers her his chair and she pauses but decided not to argue and just nods. She opens the container and breaks chopsticks apart, kicking a leg up so her knee butterlies out across the arm. “I can’t believe Angela brought Jake and Louisa. That was… something else.” She says laughing a bit as she takes a bite. “oh my god, Greg’s face when her skirt went up. I think they scared him.”

Sherlock makes a vaguely annoyed noise. “yes yes. Anyway, we have to go look at this… why do you call him something different from Jake.”

“Oh. Because it annoyed him. Everyone calls him Theo except me.”

“Even… _Collie?”_ Sherlock says in a mocking tone. She makes a grossed out face. “Yes. Even her. Also, ew. Don’t call her that.”

“Why? You do.”

“Did I?” she says. “Gross. Well don’t. Collette. Or better yet, don’t call her anything and don’t talk about her at all because, ew.” She says still eating but slowing.

Cal laughs. “tell us how you really feel then.”

“Grungy, Irritable, and Depressed.” She says, her voice sounding a bit dead. Sherlock looks up at her more keenly. “Really?”

“You can’t be that thick.” She says.

“Depressed?” he asks. “That’s a bit dramatic—”

“no. it’s mild.” She says looking at him, and he tilts his head back a bit taking her in.

“it wasn’t an act?”

“no.” she says. “if pouring bleach on my eyeballs would make me un-see him like that, I’d have been with a doctor who specializes in eyes instead. How the hell do you do that without it haunting you?”

“Well I normally don’t know the victims.” he says.

“mm.” She says. “So I guess I’m just _lucky.”_ She says with disgust, and sets the container down on the table next to her on the table.

“Don’t.” says Cal. “you know that wasn’t your fault.”

She doesn’t say anything as she looks in the distance, and swallows. She shakes herself as Jake and Angela come down. “All done, although if she gets that loud it won’t work—you look like shit.” Says Jake.

“shut up.” she says.

“No seriously.” he says. “and what’s that about a heart cond—”

“we aren’t friends Jake.” She says.

“I decide we are.” he says simply.

“fucking tops. Always think they can decide things they can’t.” she says annoyed.

Jake leans down in front of her and takes her hand softly, but she startles everyone by smacking him hard across the face. “Don’t fucking touch me.” she says. he puts his hands up but looks at her. “who did this—”

“doesn’t matter.” She says. “she wouldn’t be at your place—”

“She?” says cal.

“OF COURSE she.” Says Julie looking at him. “are you serious?”

“I—”

“I don’t engage in casual anything with men. You know this.” she says. Cal understands, and covers quickly. “No I mean she as in someone besides Annie.”

“yes, as in besides Annie. We’re over.” she says, before turning to Jake. “It’s not your business, and a lot of it is from a fight I had with Julian. Jude.” She says to Jake.

“Jude? I mean I could see him being—”

“A FIGHT.” She reiterates. “Not a scene. No casual men.” She says. “A FIGHT. With fists and screaming. I should have waited to play like that until I was in better condition. And it looks worse then it is. I bruise a lot more easily. I didn’t warn her about it. I skipped way more than I normally do actually. Distracted.” She says. “but I’ll set better ones next time.”

“Next—are you seeing her again?” says Jake. “If this person didn’t—”

“I wouldn’t be able to tell HER what to do, since the whole point is the other way.”

“Fuck that.” says Jake.

She shrugs.

“Get in better headspace before you play that game.”

“She tells me what to do. You don’t.”

He sighs angrily and stands up storming out, but she calls.

“JAKE.” She says loudly.

“WHAT?!” he roars.

“pictures.” She says.

“pic—oh.” he says, clearly not able to flip the anger off as quickly as her. He hands her the phone.

“You know advocating for your safety doesn’t make me a shit.”

She doesn’t say anything.

“You could say thank you—”

“but I won’t.” she says. “I didn’t ask you to be here.”

“Wow.” He says. “wo—” he pauses looking at her as she looks up at him and slowly smiles, before winking at him.

“you fucker!” he says. “don’t do that.”

“don’t try to tell me what to do then.” she says. “What did you do to my room?”

“I made it gorgeous.” He says. “You’re fucking welcome, stupid bitch.”

“What the FUCK Jake—”

She laughs though. “Oh untwist your panties.” She says. “I do not want those restraints. I don’t want them here at all.”

“really?” says Jake. “I thought—”

“it’s too much for me now.” She says. “and it freaks me out. please get rid of them. Rope is more than enough for anyone of marginal skill anyway.”

He takes a step back a bit. “you’ve really changed. I’m surprised—”

“Jake.” She says. “I’m not asking for your commentary. I know it was a nice gesture, and if I change my mind I know where to get it, but I don’t want it, and if you leave it I’ll just send one of the boys up and they’ll throw it away. I can’t thank you for the other gifts until you get rid of it.”

He sighs.

“can I have it?” asks Angela.

She nods. “fine with me.”

“sweet.” She says. “I can uninstall it. Do you need anything else though. I mean… is what’s in there everything you own?”

“yes it is, and I’m fine.” she says.

Angela puts a hand out and julie actually winces away. She hovers though.

“Get the fuck out of my space Angela.” She growls.

Angela shakes her head. “if you tell me who did this I can talk to—”

“Thank you both so much for helping me with the police matter.” She says.

Angela blinks at her.

“Jollie—”

“ENOUGH.” she says. “Get. Out.” she says.

Angela puts her hands up stepping back. She turns. “I’ll take the restraints though.”

“Sorry.” says Julie. “I’m sorry Angela. I’m—”

“No… jack?” she says.

“better.” She says. “or Julia.”

She nods. “I’ll stick to Jack so I don’t slip. I remember when you were like this bef—”

“please stop.” she says softly, her eyes glittering and red.

“I’m going to leave my number if you need to talk. It’s going to be okay.” she says.

Julie looks at her briefly.

“I won’t be at the funeral, but I’ll be around after.”

Julie nods looking away. “okay.”

Jake looks at the exchange before nodding. Angela gets something from upstairs and calls goodbye without stopping.

“I came because I wanted to.” he says to her harshly. “I’ll see you around.”

“you’ll be at—”

“yes.” he says. “you know where to find me. Good luck.”

She doesn’t look at him at all. “thank you for the rest….” She pauses before looking. “I’ll never forget when you caused a homicide detective to drop his jaw because you put a pet on a table and gave a demonstration.”

He smiles. “that’s what friends—”  
“ugh.”  
“are for.” He finishes ignoring her. “If you patch things up with who the fuck ever, fetish celebration is in two weeks, and we always have time for a set for you. We’ll bump people if necessary. The magician will be there.”

She looks up at him keenly. “THE magician? No.” she says.

“Thought that would perk you up. I expect you there, even if it’s just to watch.”

“Can you arrange a meeting?” she asks leaning forward.

“and she’s back.” He says smiling. “I’ll see what I can do. But you’ll have to—”

“done.” She says.

“you don’t know what I was—”

“A demo. Yes.” she says.

“No. I want to see if she can get passed your wall.”

She makes a thoughtful face before breaking out into a smile .”you know what, fuck it.”

“what’s going on?” says sherlock.

“Oh if you haven’t been part of the kink world you have to come to this. It’s at the Belle—”

“the Theater?”

“the burlesque.” She corrects, winking at him. “The magician is crazy. She does this thing where she basically hypnotizes people into orgasming on stage. Doesn’t touch them at all. It’s fascinating, and I am dying to know how she does it. Bet?” she says looking at Jake.

“hundred quid she breaks you.”

“two hundred she doesn’t.” she quips back.

“done.” He says. “good morning.”

“morning.” they say as he leaves.

“a bet?” says Sherlock.

“I’ll win.” she says. “and I’ll bet you as well that I will.”

“Ha. Ha.” He says. she smiles a bit.

“What the hell is going on?” says Cal.

“don’ worry about it.” she says. “you heard them. It’s ‘all going to be okay.’” she says widening her eyes.

“I love you too.” says sherlock suddenly and she startles a bit. “you said it earlier and I didn’t say it back. I’m supposed to say it back.”

“I said it twice.” She says.

“I love you too, again,” he says, widening his eyes at her. “will you eat now?”

She laughs breathlessly at him, and then begins to really laugh. and it turns to crying in no time.

“breath. or something.” Says Sherlock impassively.

“really?!” says Cal. “what the fuck is wrong with you?” says Cal.

“I’m fucking exhausted, and people keep making me explain things. I have never explained so often and so much in all my life and I really want to go back to not illuminating people about every detail of my life. Be a good big little not brother and let me be weird without asking a billion questions.”

Cal sighs. “fine fine, but you have to tell me what happened with Julian—”

“it’s taken care o—” her phone rings, and she tenses her whole body in irritation, looking at the phone. “hey.” She says.

She listens.

“no.” she says and hangs up, before tuning to cal. “are you staying in England?”

“That’s why I got a job. You know dad will be here tomorrow morning right?”

“I… oh my god I forgot! Wait… he said Monday night.”

“I… wait did he? is it Tuesday?”

“yes!” she says. “shit. Oh shit! Oh he can’t stay here—”  
“duh. I have a spare bedroom for him.”

“oh. wait. How?” she says. “oh you didn’t—”

“don’t you dare judge me!” he says.

“I’m not Cal but really—”

“shut up.” he says.

She sighs. “well… you’re doing it independently right?”

“duh.” He says. “I’m not a total idiot.”

“says the man who forgot what day it was.”

“oh fuck off. you forgot—”

“I got mixed up with a murder investigation, dick head.”

“not my fault you married a detective.”

“is your father by chance at the airport now?” interrupts sherlock.

“I… do you know what time his flight arrives?” she says.

“no. don’t you?”

She opens her phone and searches. “I don’t think he told me eith—”  
Cal’s phone rings.

“DAD! We were just frantically trying to figure out when your flight got in. I’m guessing now. What airport and I’ll pick you up. What? Yeah hold on.” he passes the phone.

“Hi dad.” She says.

 _What’s wrong?_ he asks immediately.

“oh you know. This and that. I got in a fight so—“

_What else?_

“it’s not important right now. who told you anything was wrong anyway?”

_I can tell._

“okay psychic sally. What’s up?”

_We didn’t talk about plans. What are they?_

She sighs. “I actually got… there’s been… Ted was murdered, and he might have been linked to a human trafficking ring.”

There’s a long silence.

“so I’ve been distracted.” She supplies.

_Ted, collette’s ex husband?_

“yes.”

_On top of all the news breaking. Who did you fight with? Annie?_

“julian.”

_That bastard layed hands—_

“it was a misunderstanding and I pistol whipped him so we’re even.”

“you what?” says Cal.

_Good girl. Well silver lining is I did not sleep on the plane and am extremely jet-lagged. I was thinking I’d get a room—_

“cal’s putting you up.”

_How does cal have— I’m going to be sad to hear how he got the cash, aren’t I?_

“yeah, I think so.”

_For the love of— Oh Cal._

“he says he’s not being an idiot about it.”

“are you talking about—are you serious?”

“I might actually do the same, for a bit, so don’t start dad.”

“what?! absolutely not” says Cal.

“hypocrite.” She says.

_My two prostitute children. What every dad aspires to._

“well my backup plan fell through. All of them actually. but you were saying.”

 _Oh. right. I were saying—”_ he pauses as she laughs. _If you want to wait until later…_

“honestly dad, for all I know I’ll be arrested tomorrow. If you want to come by, by all means do. Sherlock will probably be in and out, since he’s involved in the investigation. behave though if you do see him.”

_I’ll pop in and say hello. I’m on my way there now.”_

“oh. well alright. I’ll send Cal out to pick up more food.”

_If you want to be an angel and—_

“you aren’t supposed to eat that dad.”

_Life is short and then you die._

“a fittingly morbid thought. I’ll send Cal to get the ingredients then. But you’ll have to be fine without the tea. It’s strong hot leaf water, not iced sweet leaf water.”

“chicken?” asks cal. she nods. He waves, and she stops him. “Cal. There’s cash in top gun.” She points. “take all of it.”

“sweet.” He says.

“you know you don’t have to pay rent right?” says sherlock.

“what?” she says.

“you handed me—”  
“Oh I did!” she says. “I totally forgot I did that. Oh that’s good.” she says. “okay dad. I’ll see you soon. We do have a bedroom upstairs but it’s…”

_I do remember when you were with Collette._

“it’s actually… I’ll explain when you get here. _auf wiedersehen”_

_Soon my dear, and never goodbye._

He hangs up and she smiles. “well…” she says. “I should make myself halfway presentable. Oh shit all my—” sherlock picks her up and she makes a startled noise and laughs. “john, will you get the spare sheets from the linen cabinet, and then throw all the others on my bed.”

* * *

 

Her father rings the bell.

“is Mrs Hudson here?” she asks, as they hear Cal open the door. “I almost beat you.” he says.

“almost is not quite good enough.” says her father as they come up the stairs. Her father appears with the grocery bags, cal and him having switched. Julie managed a fast shower and to throw on a little makeup and something nicer, her hair twisted up out of the way. As soon as her father arrives a visible weight seems to lift from her shoulders, until her father narrows his eyes at her. “I don’t think pistol wipping makes you even after all.” he says.

“Hello to you too.” she retorts.

“why are you standing like that?” he asks.

“Dad. _Hi._ It’s good to see you.”

“blah blah blah, can I hug you or are you all—”  
“shut up.” she says and wraps her arms around her father, and he hugs her back with abandon. “ow.” She says.

“oh for the love of—I asked!” he says.

“and I said shut up. give me the damn chicken. Husband, Dad. Dad, Husband. And John.” she says gesturing.

“Hello Husband and John.” says her father, who approaches with a hand out. Sherlock takes his hand which is callused and large in his hand.

_Dying._

It flashes around the man, everything else quiet compared to the rest of the reading. Sherlock has to focus to see the rest.

“if you’re deducering, do it out loud!” she calls from the kitchen fiddling with the stovetop and getting dishes. “Cal. Help.” She says pointing and he comes and gets stuff, as she keeps going. “I know you’re doing it, so I better hear it.”

“sherlock.” says John warningly. “behave.”

“you sound like my daughter. Well go on.” he says accepting the chair john offers him.

“are you sure?” he says to the man.

“oh just do it. I got all the shit parts of watching you watch and none of the fun.”

“right. well. You’ve served in the military in the Vietnam era before returning to work in hard labor for many years. Your wife’s been dead upwards of twenty years, but you haven’t persued a new relationship. You’ve taken up exercising recently in an effort to—” he stops.

Her father raises his eyebrows waiting. “did he malfunction?”

“probably. Reboot him.” she says.

Her father smiles warmly. “yes I did. Do you see it helping?”

“yes?” says sherlock.

“oh that was almost as bad as Julia. If it’s not helping, just say so because I really can’t stand it anyway and would rather be doing other things.”

Julie looks at sherlock curiously who sees it and immediately moves his eyes away.

“shit.” She says. “fuck shit god damn mother fuck—”  
her father’s up in an instant stopping her. “okay captain curse word calm—” he stops as she starts sobbing and her father takes her in his arms. Her legs buckle and he gently leads her to the ground. “shh.”

“what?” says Cal. “what is—is—” he looks at sherlock. “oh shit. You were going to say it wasn’t making a difference.”

“yes.” says sherlock honestly.

Cal looks up at the ceiling.

“god damn it.” he says softly. Their adoptive father opens his arms. “this is apparently floor news so come down here.”

Cal smiles a bit sadly but shakes his head. “no. You always say stand on your feet. I’m standing.”

“well when I’m buried you’ll be standing—”

“buried?” she says looking back at him suddenly. “since when are you—”

“since I realized you need a stone to talk to. it’ll be just like talking to me. Just as stone faced and hard headed.”

“oh dad you don’t have to—”

“you’re almost mom would be pissed if I didn’t so stop arguing, and get me a plot here.”

She swallows, and her eyebrows steeple up. “you’ll move to England one way or another?” she says.

“yup.” He says.

“that’s so fucked up.” she says laughing. “help me up.” she says to cal, who lifts them both.

“does this mean you’ll stop giving me food lectures?” asks her father.

“yup.” She says. “enjoy it while it lasts.”

“terrible.” Says her father, shaking his head. “and also, that was. I thought he was supposed to be good. that’s nothing.”

She smiles. “right? what’s up with that?” she says looking at sherlock who looks a bit startled. “really?”

“yes.” say all three of them.

“hop to little bunny.” Says her father, and john snorts a laugh at the phrase. “there is something I never thought I’d hear him called.”

“yes. funny.” Says sherlock straight faced. “right. anyway. Exercising is a no go. You have finally accepted you need to wear your reading glasses, I’m assuming after many years of adamant refusal.”  
sherlock continues on in that fashion for a while, before ending. “and you’re hiding several gifts, one or some in your luggage and one inside your jacket, which you took out of the smaller luggage bag in the cab, forgetting to close the zipper all the way.”

“you brought presents?” she says. “that’s dumb.”

“yes. it is dumb.” He says. “and what I have in my coat is for you smarty pants, not for my kids. It’s only one after all, and I have two of them.”

“I’m your favorite.” Calls Cal, before “ow.”

Sherlock looks at him curiously, and her father taps it. “another time.” he says. “fl-“ he starts to call but they hear her flipping chicken over in the frying pan. “nevermind. Are you staying to eat or do you need to dash off.”

“digesting slows me down.” says sherlock.

“I can hear Julia rolling her eyes at you.” says her father to sherlock as he stands.

“rolled eyes or not, it’s time for us to head out.”

“have fun poking—nope. too much.” she says shaking her head.

“a dead body.” Supplies her father cheerfully. Cal laughs once awkwardly. “that’s so bad.”

“have some respect dad.”

“right. make sure to lift your pinkies sherlock.”

Julie turns to sputter. “Oh. my god. you know for someone so close to death, you’d think you’d try to behave so you don’t go to hell.”

“eh.” Says her father. “I suppose so. but that’s where Silvia is, so—”

“DAD!” she says. “that’s so awful!”

“you’re right. Of course Silvia isn’t there.” he says. “Silvia has always been an angel and I wasn’t good enough for her to begin with. My children on the other hand…”

“thanks.” Says cal, sarcastically.

“how’d you get money for your new place again?”

“DAD!” he says.

Sherlock has put his coat back on and is wrapping his scarf—”

“Hey!” calls her dad. “what about the hat?”

Sherlock groans. “oh do I have to—”

“yes.” say all three. He sighs and gets the hat and puts it on. “happy?” he asks.

“ecstatic.” Says her father. she turns and smiles at him before turning back to the chicken. “hasta luego.” She says. Sherlock comes over and touches her hip surprising her, and she turns towards him to look at him questioningly. He touches her face, hand against her cheek, and then kisses her. she smiles into it after a moment and returns.

“ew.” Says Cal.

“way to ruin it.” she says to cal, who sticks his tongue out. Sherlock rolls his eyes and brushes her cheek without looking in goodbye, before leading john out.

* * *

 

Molly wheels out the body of Theodore Johnson. The wounds look even more strange now that he’s cleaned up, and sherlock looks at the coloration. He furrows his brows and looks at the make up of the layout, and moves to the hand where he pauses. He takes a small file and scrapes under a fingernail and sees a small flake of black skin. Sherlock lifts the mans arms.

“John.” he says. “are any of these somewhere he might not be able to reach himself?”

“what?” says John.

Sherlock lifts the hand and plunges it into one of the holes seeing it stops at where the man would be able to reach himself.

John’s brow furrows. “why would he do that?”

“we have to open all these up.” he says. “and see what we can find.”

“he’s already been so brutalized.” Says molly.

“possibly by himself. we need to find out what he was trying to get.”  
“what he was… do you think there was something inserted into him?”

Sherlock pulls of his gloves and nods at john, who rolls up his sleeves and gets to work.

“sherlock.” he says. “look. I wouldn’t have noticed it but…” he pulls out a thin wire, so small it’s almost microscopic, but as they pull they hear a very soft… spooling. A soft squelch and hen a small oval shaped device, the size of a grain of rice.

“what is it?” says john.

“what he was trying to get.” Says sherlock.

* * *

 

Under the microscope, sherlock sighs. “it’s… it’s dose of poison, with a spring load that shoots that wire out to stab him, and release the poison.”

“how did it get inside him.”

“he swallowed it. we need to talk to pinkerton, I think.” He says dialing.

_Hiya._

“can you set up a meeting with pinkerton?”

 _Pinker…_ she trails off. _no. I don’t want to be a part of that. I’ll text you her details—_

“that’s better anyway.”

_I agree. Is that all?_

“yes.” he says and hangs up. his phone bings after a second and he nods. “we need to see lestrade.”

“I thought we were going to talk to pinkerton.”

“later.” He says.

* * *

 

“what progress have you made on Johnson’s connection to the building?” says sherlock walking directly into his office.

“well hello to you too.” says lestrade.

“well?” he says.

Lestrade sighs. “he acquired the lease to the building three days ago. we haven’t found when those people entered or—”  
“have you broken through the door in the cell?”

“what door in the cell?”

“the one on the south wall. It locked when we entered. Did you not hear it?”

“was that what that was?” he asks.

Sherlock scoffs. “well while you were busy doing nothing of use, we found what killed Ted, and it wasn’t a knife. Or at least, that wasn’t what triggered it.”

“he had about twelve stab would—”

“he swallowed some kind of micro spring loaded electrical charge.”

“a what?”

“it popped out and stabbed his intestine lining, and then released a slowly building nerve poison. It’s likely, if Mr Johnson knew what it was, that he actually stabbed himself. The wounds that occurred first were all left handed stabs, and sloppy, but his right hand plunged in trying to find it. He must have known what it was. It’s at the lab if you’d like to examine it. He likely consumed it that morning at breakfast.”

“that doesn’t help Julia—”

“of course it does. We were leaving and she didn’t feed him.”

“no. but the place you went her parents own.”

“no they—oh you mean the rosamunde’s?”

“yes.” says greg.

“it’s far more likely that one of the people he dined with, or possibly a staff member was the one behind the… is it poisoning? Electric poisoning.” Sherlock smiles a little. “fascinating.”

“sherlock.” says john.

“right. well—”  
lestrade’s phone rings and he stops him to answer. “yes. he’s here. it’s your brother.”

“hello Mycroft.”

_Did you discover the cause of Mr Johnson’s death?_

“yes, a spring-loaded poison-administering device. It shoots out a thin length of wire to stab the lining of the intestines before releasing what we can assume is probably a nerve poison.”

_Swallowed?_

“so it seems.”

_Hand me back._

He does so and lestrade listens before looking at sherlock. “alright. goodbye.” He hangs up and takes the photos down. “it appears the investigation is being taken over by people above us… and that we should release the story that he had an accidental allergic reaction.”

“a what?” says sherlock.

“we haven’t released out any details about it. we’ve questioned people about if he had enemies or not, but apparently, saying this is the best course of action and that we don’t have a choice in the matter. To say anything else would be considered interfering with a national investigation, obstruction of justice, and would likely result in serious jail time.”

Sherlock furrows his brows as his phone goes off.

> RECEIVED: ** _Thanks_ _for the find. I’ve got it from here. Mycroft Holmes._**
> 
> SENT: **_I know who you are, and what about Pinkerton?_**
> 
> RECEIVED: ** _I’ve got it covered. Go home. I hear your flatmates father is in town. Mycroft Holmes._**

Sherlock sighs. “well… that was anticlimactic.”

“what about the kid?” says lestrade.

> SENT: _ **What about the kid?**_
> 
> RECEIVED: ** _We’ve found him. It’s handled._**

“apparently they found him.” says sherlock.

“well… I guess it’s out of our hands.” Says John.

“I guess so.” says sherlock. “I don’t like this at all.” he sighs and they head home.

 

 


	13. Better Things To Do

## Chapter 13: Better Things to Do.

As soon as they open the door they are greeted with the sound of loud and raucous laughter… and they make their way up the stairs, hearing some kind of silly music. They walk in to find Cal wiggling his but vigorously at the door. Julie’s eyes snap to sherlock, and she tries to surpress her laughter as sherlock stairs at Cal with stunned focus. Cal spins slowly around and when he sees the boys he suddenly straightens and steps a leg awkwardly in front of him, an elbow going out ad his hand moves toward him. “oh. hey. You’re back soon.”

Julie and her father are laughing behind him.

“what on earth—”

“I think we should see sherlock do it now.” says her dad.

“nope.” says Julie. “oh, but we have a very interesting woman coming by to play scrabble. She’s a madam… or something else technically but she’s like the queen of escorts.”

“no thanks. I hate scrabble.”

“That’s your objection?” says Cal.

“How are you paying for your new place?”

“Oh not this again.” says Cal. “do you want me to have a roof over my head and eat food, because a few—”

“just wrap up son.” Says their father.

“and remember that you can totally still catch herpes.”

“Yes, THANK YOU sister.” he says.

“I did such a good job raising them, didn’t I.” says their dad. “I mean I can really be proud of the great and glittering careers my two children have. It’s nice to know that if I fail, I fail spectacularly.”

“Yup. It’s all your fault.” Says Julie. “everyone of my failings and flaws. All you.”

“Glad to know you got something from me.” says their dad. “so, solved it then?”

“Mycroft’s taken over.” says Sherlock.

“Is that an agency—”

“His older brother. In government.” She says. “disappointed.” She says looking at sherlock and pointing at him. Sherlock shrugs. “Well you can ask if you can help.” She says matter-of-factly. Sherlock scoffs at her before a look of dumbfounded offence crosses his face. “Are you serious?” he asks, his tone bouncing with incredulity. 

“What?” She says.

“I’m not about to try and get… _permission_ to help on a case he poached from me.”

“ _He_ poached? You know that was technically _my_ fault that he’s handling it, right?” She says.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten it. My first case since you’ve been here, and you run off the rails with it and then pass it onto the man who comes to _me_ for help.”

“The man being your brother.” she says sarcastically sitting down in his chair.

“Irrelevant.” Says Sherlock. “Get out of my chair.”

“Irrelev—I’m offended on behalf of brothers everywhere.” Says Cal.

“Yes well, you aren’t actually related so it’s— OW!” Says sherlock as the union jack pillow smacks him in the side of the head. Julie had picked it up and tossed it at, ‘yes, well—’ knowing he was going to respond in such a way. All three other boys turn slightly in surprised laughter at the exchange.

“We should get me my own chair.” She says. “until then we can share.”

“You’ve decided we are going to share _my_ chair.”

“I’m bored.” she says back, tossing her arms down beside her on the arms of the chair. John catches the remarkably similar gesture.

“are you making fun of me?” sherlock asks. “get out of my chair.”

“Um, no.”

“yes.” says Sherlock.

“oh poignant argument. Still no. and why do you think I’m making fun of you?”

He gestures at the chair.

“because I’m siting? Are you the only one allowed to sit? I’m pretty sure that is a remarkable normal activity that you engage in. I’ve seen every person in this room _sit.”_ She looks at him questioningly.

“I’m bored?” he asks.

“Are you asking me if you are? I mean Yes. You are. But I don’t understand why the end of that was raised in question.”

Sherlock scoffs again, and again raises his eyebrows in skeptism before it turns to surprise. “You’re serious.”

She looks at him, her face eyes wide and brows stiff in bewilderment, shaking her hand. “what in the world are you talking about?”

“He does that.” Says John, her expression turns to him. “Makes no sense? I’ve missed something.”

“I’m bored.” says John explaining.

“okay… and?”

“No. He says that. flings his arms on the chair and says it.” says John.

“Oh.” she says. “Oh! I did a thing you do. That’s funny.” She says.

“Hilarious.” Says Sherlock dryly.

“So entertaining.” Says Cal. “You ready to go Dad?”

“Oh, are you leaving already?” asks John.

Mr Dawson nods. “I’m sure I’ll see you both again very soon.”

“Aren’t you hear specifically to get to know him?” asks Julie, hopping up smoothly.

“Arrogant but clever detective. What else is there to know?” says her father. “Oh. I did mess with your secret stash in the bathroom though.”

She looks at Sherlock. “In the BATHROOM?” she says looking at him. Sherlock looks at her confused. “I think it must be yours.” He says.

“My secret— _I_ don’t have a— what?” she says confused and turns and walks to the bathroom confused looking around. Sherlock follows after a moment and his eyes move immediately to the tub. She sees this and climbs into it reaching.

“NO!” says Sherlock. “Don’t.”

“Addict.” says her father. “well, maybe there is more to know.”

She looks at her father and seems to understand. “shit.” She says. “Oh shit on a dick.” She says.

“You’re an addict?” says Cal. “What?!”

“reformed addict.” she corrects. “and you are an asshole. Is there even anything—”

“yes.” say both Sherlock and her father.

She looks at her dad, saying. “But you didn’t know he was until I said…” she trails off looking at the tub, and then sighs. “you’re an asshole.” she says to her dad. “crazy old fuck.” she adds standing still in the tub looking around.

“Look at her. She’s frozen.” Says her dad. “Stuck standing in the tub because she knows she wants to see what I mean by messed with.”

“I know what you did. Why would you do it?”

“Because I thought it would be funny to embarrass my son in law. Reformed for how long?”

“Anytime you want to fuck off—” she says. “No. Don’t tell him anything, and give me a hand out. What the hell Dad?” she says as sherlock picks her up by the waist and lifts her smoothly.

“Can you not get out of the tub by yourself?” says her father.

“Dad.” She says.

“Child.” He responds.

“is it pornography? It’s pornography isn’t it.” says Cal.

“An addict.” says her father. “after everything you’ve been through. I can accept a lot of things—”

“and you can accept this.” she says. “because it has nothing to do with you.”

“Been through as in after the accident?”

“Oh you knew about that?” says her father. “if you knew you could have been there. I understand you got shot and she was in the hospital, deliberately broken hand to cover, within thirty-six hours. No, that’s not what I mean.” he says and without looking at her. “Don’t you dare break something because your angry.”

His tone is fierce, and low. “control your temper or people will either try to control it for you, or try to control you with it.”

Sherlock sees her clench her jaw and hands hard, her whole body tense.

Her father continues calmly. “Where is it?”

“Not in the bathroom.” She says.

“you’re bleeding.” Says her brother. She looks at him confused and all eyes move to her hands, where a small tendril of blood has snaked across the top of her fingers. She opens her hands stiffly.

“Julia.” Says her dad. “Do I need to get the salt.”

“What?” says cal. “Dad, what the—”

“he’s not being serious.” She says, her voice shaky as she moves to the sink and turns on the water to rinse the small half moon cuts on her hand. She’s shaking.

“Julia.” Says her father again.

“I’m fine.” she says. “I’m fine.” she says again softly, almost a whisper. “I have to pee.” Her voice is flat again, the toneless clatter of a lie. They leave anyway, and sherlock shuts the door.

“Look I know you’ve always been a bit dark, but why would you say that?”

“Because.” Says her father. A chill has fallen over the room. “I. reiterate.” He says slowly to sherlock. “Where is this stash?”

They hear water running in the bathroom. A small noise. Sherlock turns to the noise before looking back at her father, his face hard. Her father watches him.

“Cruel.” He says to him after a moment, his voice just as quiet, a calm cold anger. “There’s more to know about you too.”

Her father watches Sherlock as he moves to the bathroom, and he hears the lock click, so he adjusts course and goes through the  bedroom. He hears it click. He pauses at the door, just standing there, his shadow darkening the glass. He hears the lock unclick and he opens it as she steps back sighing. “if it’s obvious I want privacy—”

“I’m going to hug you.” he says softly, interrupting. She blinks at him once.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” she says softly.

“we’re hugging not talking.” He responds. she laughs, a sound of just air, and nods. She’s shaking in his arms but she tries to catch her breath. he pulls away and sits down on the floor leaning against the tub, a hand at her wrist. “sit.” He says pulling her a bit and she sits down, her back to against his chest as he hugs her.

“I’m glad I didn’t get puke in my hair.” She whispers through her shaking, tamping her gasping.

“breath slower. Count your breaths or something.”

She laughs a bit. They both freeze. They hear sounds of things being moved about. “twice. Twice are things are searched—”  
they hear a crash.

“there goes my jar of eyeballs.”

She smiles. “Who do you think dropped it?”

“Cal. yelp.” He says.

“right. obvious.” She says annoyed with herself. He looks at her hands. “I knew you did this.” he says matter of factly.

She pulls her hand away with some force.

“I wasn’t done.” He says.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

He gently takes her hand. She tenses hard against him, her breath accelerating. Sherlock brings it up and kisses her fingertips. Her breathing slows. “oh.” she says.

He opens her palm and places a soft kiss to her palm, higher then the small, rapidly bruising cuts.

“can you go a day without any new injuries. I like your skin unmottled far more then in its variegated condition.”

She smiles for a moment and then drops it.

“Did I fix it? Are you done now?” he says after another minute goes by.

“help me up. I need to brush my teeth. Again.” she says.

“You know you don’t actually need help right.” he says pushing her a little across the floor.

“No. But I get mad every time it stings and I don’t want to be angry any more than I have to be. And why are you telling me I don’t need help.”

“The stairs yes.”

“If I need help with stairs I need help getting—”

“nope.” he says picking her up like a toddler. She makes an annoyed noise but moves as soon as her feet hit to brush her teeth. He moves to the door but pauses when she gestures, toothbrush in hand and they hear footsteps in the bedroom. She whispers “is it better to stop them or to not care.”

“The second. Always better.” He says.

She nods and turns. Sherlock walks over and says softly,

“Have you been on the London Eye yet?”

“eh wha?” she says toothbrush in mouth.

“the giant ferris wheel. Or Big Ben. I’ve actually used a space behind the clockface as a bolt hole before.”

She shakes her head. “oh I a-en.” She says.

“finish brushing your teeth and put your shoes on. We’ll remedy that.”

she smiles and nods. Sherlock opens the bathroom door to the hall, and calls through the open bedroom door.

“Items of a sexual nature are still upstairs.” He says to her father who is tossing sherlock’s clothes about.

“funny. And I know.” he says. “some of your things might be ruined now. Or many.” Says her dad.

“I was under the impression that you _weren’t_ okay with a person destroying objects because they’ve lost their temper.” He says calmly as he walks slowly down the hall. He turns and looks at her father briefly, giving a faint shrug as he moves through.

“I tried to get him to stop.”

Sherlock shakes his head. “Police already searched everything this morning. What’s another search?” he says and turns to Cal who looks green.

“you’ll have to clean the embalming fluid off the floor. If you let it sit it will ruin Mrs Hudson’s floors. She’ll be more distressed then her floors will be if that happens.” He addresses it to Cal, kicking an eyeball slightly out of the way as it rolls lopsided across the floor. Cal heaves harshly.

They hear her walk out.

says her voice. “if you ruin that shirt I’ll be very sad. I bought that for him for our second anniversary. Now come on. I’ll show you where we keep it.”

Sherlock turns in mild surprise.

“Kitchen.” She says to him. Sherlock tilts his head, relaxing a bit into a pose of curiosity. “oh duh. Fluid. Will you get my shoes?” she says addressing John who stands next to them. He steps carefully into the kitchen as she slides on her boots, and laces them, tucking her well fitted pants into her shoes, wincing a bit as she laces. Her father stands.

“well?”

“well someone’s going to have to clean up all this sludge because I’ll bet it will absolutely devastate the floors… and Mrs Hudson will be devastated with all of us for it.” she says it and kicks the same eyeball even farther.

John looks at sherlock, then cal who looks just as stunned by the similarity of the action, and they both look at sherlock again who has crossed his arms but has a knowing and pleasantly surprised expression.

“Julia.” Says her father. “you said you were going to show me where he kept his stash.”

“no. I said I’m going to show you where we keep it.” she says walking to the cupboard and opens it. “I’ll give it to you.” she says and her dad walks forward and puts a hand out. She hands him a blue cardboard cylinder of salt.

Her father looks at her in surprise.

She raises her eyebrows at him. “Oh. I’m sorry. I thought you wanted me to show you that you raised me well. To follow your life lessons.” She steps toward her father and opens the salt tab. Her fathers rolls his eyes and goes to shut it but she says. “two lessons.” She says a bit more loudly. “one, never make a threat you can’t follow through with.” she says. “if you say you’ll cut out someone’s tongue, you better be prepared to get spit on your hands.” She takes the salt from him. “and the second lesson. Never shy away from a threat you can’t actually handle dealing with.” she pours salt into her hand and shuts the tab, placing it gently in the cupboard. She then grinds her palms together, twisting it so the salt grits across the scabs, opening them. she opens her palms to show the pinking salt. “Now I have blood on my hands again. Spit isn’t really an issue.” She licks her hand once, flat tongue pressing slowly and deliberately against her salted palm. She holds her dad’s eye contact, who has swayed a little back, and her expression breaks into one of nonchalance as she shrugs. “ready?” she says turning.

“coats.” He says walking over to the coatrack and she steps carefully around the puddle.

“are you leaving?” says John.

“where are you going?” says Cal fervently.

“you aren’t invited.” She says matter of factly. “you have eyeball sludge to clean up. I wouldn’t use salt to soak it up though. Maybe cornstarch.”

“you’re just going.” Says John.

“This isn’t particularly interesting. We’re going to find better things to do.” says sherlock, putting his coat and scarf on, as she picks up her coat. “hat?”

“not funny.” He says pausing.

“little bit funny.” She says, undoing her hair from bun she had it in and twisting it to the side to tie lower before sliding on a knit cap.

_Swisssh SNAP_

Sherlock slid his belt and cracked it at her. She turns toward him in surprise and everyone stops. “Tevye.” He says, his eyes twinkling. She reaches out to take the belt slowly and he winks as she does so, sharing a naughty smile between them. She takes the belt from his hand and picks up her violin and bow, sliding the belt carefully under the strings of both before attaching it across her body. He turns and she hops on his back.

“bye.” She calls as sherlock carries her piggy back down the stairs, hopping down at the bottom.

John goes to the window and watches to see her slide down the concrete railing of the step to skip the stairs, sherlock rolling his eyes, and so she gives an extra hop just to annoy him, shaking her hands and wiggling her fingers. He scoffs and walks off without her so she has to take several quick steps to catch up.

“They just left.” Says Cal in amazement.

“They did say they were bored.” says John.

They both look at her father, who looks at them both. “Why did they say police had already searched their possessions?”

“She was questioned about how she knew Ted.” Says John. “The inspector had a search warrant.”

“But police have already searched.” Says her father sighing. “Oh they probably already got rid of it, and are off to replace it. Or he’s just carrying it. God damn it.” he says.

“Dad. Maybe we should go back to mine. Rest a minute.”

“Because I’m just a grumpy old man?” says her father irritated.

“Uh, yeah. Duh.” He says. “They aren’t serious about the floor are they?”

“oh yeah. Mrs Hudson will be very upset. I don’t know if they have cornstarch but the shop downstairs might give you some… if you ask nicely. Have fun.” He says sitting down on the couch a paper.

“You aren’t going to help?” says Cal

“I told you not to search their stuff. And I definitely am not the one who dropped the jar. It’s already been sitting for a while. I’m pretty sure that stuff stains.”

“…shit.” Says Cal. “Oh this is absolute bollocks. Dad loses his mind about drugs maybe being in the house and I end up cleaning up eyeballs and… whatever this goo is.”

“Embalming fluid he said.” says John.

“Awesome.”

* * *

 

“You weren’t serious about Big Ben were you?” Asks Julie as they walk along the footway. The concrete fence slips by them as they follow the river Thames.

“No. I’ve absolutely utilized the space behind—”

“I mean going there. That’s a lot of stairs.” She says.

“Oh.” says Sherlock. “That’s correct. I did not mean we would go there. I actually didn’t mean we’d go to the eye either.”

“but… it’s right there.” she says gesturing.

“You know what’s down the road from it though.” He says.

“uh… buildings. I have no idea. What?”

He stops. “Really?” he says.

She turns. “What? What am I missing?”

“The Globe?!” he says.

“Oh. OH!” she says. “Wait is it open? Are you taking me… _on a TOUR?_ As in with _people?”_

“No good?” He says.

“Uh, no. Because it’s amazing. Why are we just standing here? How long do you think it will take to get kicked out if I start playing on the stage without asking? Have you read Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead? _Why are you just standing there?”_

His smiles lopsidedly at her, his cheek lifting, his eyes crinkling at the corners of a warm gaze.

“Stop smiling at me and move your feet, buttmunch.”

His expression drops before laughing in incredulity. “ _buttmunch?”_

“will you move! Which way?”

“Remind me not to do anything nice for you again.” He says.

“You haven’t done it yet, and remind your own damn self.” She says walking backwards with a skip, and sherlock follows. “Stop skipping. You look ridiculous.”

“I _like_ ridiculous.” She says. “I sword fight in fountains.”

“and apparently seduce women for fun.”

“I don’t know if _apparently_ is right. I’m capable of being subtlety. I think. Why do you want to watch me seduce a woman?”

He stops again.

“Stop stopping.” She says. “Or I’ll skip the rest of the way.”

“you’ll hurt a lot more if you do.” He retorts. “Hang on! We have to cross.” He says pointing to the bridge.

She spins and turns and sherlock catches up with two long strides.

Sherlock pays for tickets and they join the group. Sherlock occasionally corrects the group, but Julie is silent. Utterly silent. Her eyes take in everything around her. It isn’t until they stand close to the stage, when the tour guide says “unfortunately, we don’t allow tour guests to walk on the stage, for your own safety and also to preserve the secret bond between actors and the stage.”

“What if you’re an actor whose in the tour?” she says in a false British accent. Sherlock turns to her a bit surprised, but nods. “Yes? What then? Surely it can’t possibly interfere with the ‘sacred bond.’ How do you even know if it’s been interfered with? Do actors everywhere suddenly hop to? Does an alarm sound?” He speaks as Julie slides out of the line of sight, sherlock walking the opposite direction so the tour guide’s eyes follow him.

“Does the stage suddenly emit a terrible smell if the sacred bond is violated?” she adds with complete seriousness, as she walks backwards towards the stage. “Does the Bard himself show up and chastise the violator? Well that actually makes it sound more appealing. I’d love to be chastised by the great Will.” She says. “Talk about a man with a dirty mind.”

She hops up onto the stage.

“Miss you can’t be up there.”

“yeah miss!” she returns to the guide. “You stay there. only actors up here.”

Sherlock smiles briefly before straightening his face.

“What?” he says.

“I’ll not have time to tell it all, so I’ll just give a taste.” She says before calling out. “In 1593, What is believed to be William Shakespeare’s first publication was published… a dirty narrative poem of Venus and her attempted seduction of Adonis, her unrequited love who would rather be of on the hunt, written in _sesta rima._ That’s ABABCC. Here’s a good bit, where Venus plays with his good bits.”

 

> The studded bridle on a ragged bough  
>  Nimbly she fastens:--O, how quick is love!--  
>  The steed is stalled up, and even now  
>  To tie the rider she begins to prove:  
>  Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,  
>  And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.
> 
> So soon was she along as he was down,  
>  Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:  
>  Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,  
>  And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips;  
>  And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,  
>  'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'
> 
> He burns with bashful shame: she with her tears  
>  Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;  
>  Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs  
>  To fan and blow them dry again she seeks:  
>  He saith she is immodest, blames her 'miss;  
>  What follows more she murders with a kiss.
> 
> Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,  
>  Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone,  
>  Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,  
>  Till either gorge be stuff'd or prey be gone;  
>  Even so she kissed his brow, his cheek, his chin,  
>  And where she ends she doth anew begin.
> 
> Forced to content, but never to obey,  
>  Panting he lies and breatheth in her face;  
>  She feedeth on the steam as on a prey,  
>  And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace;  
>  Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers,  
>  So they were dew'd with such distilling showers.

 

 

She recites quickly, and clearly, moving around the stage as the security guards make their way over, skipping about before bowing as the security guards convene on her and she rolls to the edge of the stage and slides down, landing with a small hop on her feet and turning around.

“You violated the bond!” she shouts at them. “only actors on the stage!”

Sherlock snorts once as she catches up to him and raises her eyebrows as he puts away his cell phone, which he had been using to film her little adventure.

“you’ve exposed yourself Madame.” He says. “We’ve been looking for you for quite some time. I’ve got it officers.” He says snapping handcuffs on her arms swiftly.

“You’ve got nothing. NOTHING!” she shouts in a german accent.

“Shut up.” he says as they walk out, him escorting her through the doors and down the street.

“five stanzas. More than I expected.”

“Exactly the right number I wanted to do.” She says. “are you keeping me handcuffed, because I think that’s a bit of a turn on.”

“You know.” he says softly. “It’s a bit unkind to talk so much about what we can’t actually do.”

“it’s like when they say don’t think about pink elephants. You immediately think about it.” she says.

“I don’t.” He says.

“Well right now all I can think about is that if I can’t use my hands, it gives you a lot of ability to use yours.”

“stop it.” he says and stops her as well, unlocking her. She shakes her arms out, and begins to walk but he pauses her, typing.

“what are you doing?”

“making arrangements.” He says.

“for?” she says as the sun creeps lower.

“I did a member for a staff member several years back.” He says. “I know I don’t particularly want to be squashed in with a ton of people, and he owes me a favor.”

“I’m not really an exhibitionist.”

“First, yes you are. And second, that’s not why. Arranged.” He says.

* * *

 

Julie stands facing out over the Thames, her violin pressed to her shoulder as she checks the tuning, plucking a few strings for good measure. “If I had a bucket list, this would be on it. Can you play left handed at all?”

Sherlock, who is sitting on the center bench of the capsule, lays down. “I’m already bored.”

“it’s been like five minutes.” She says. “what favor did he do for you?” she says turning toward the worker.

“He cleared my name.” says the man simply.

“Well.. I figured.” She says with some impatience. “if it were the opposite you would be in jail. What did he clear your name of? How?”

“Stealing. He proved the thief would have had to be right-handed.”

“Fellow lefty. Excellent.” she says.

“and that he would have had to have been much shorter. And a woman. took about five minutes to find the actual thief. Fairly boring.”

“When you tell it like that, Yes.” she states.

“So are you two… together?” the man asks.

“Why? Do we look like we’d be a particularly _cute_ couple?” He says with some derision.

“I—"

“Don’t answer that.” She says. “It’s a trap. Sherlock is helping me discover my true identity. Also, I live in his flat. I’m apparently a terrible roommate. It’s the American attitude I expect.”

“It’s because your annoying.” He says. “John at least cleaned up after himself.”

“John— _cleaned up?_ Captain clutter. Isn’t this supposed to be some kind of… apology?”

“Me? _I_ don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“Of course you do. He is the worst sharer in the world.”

“It’s MY chair.” Says sherlock sitting up.

“Next he’s going to be writing his name on everything. But you can’t kick me out for at least a month. Unless you—are you having all my stuff put on the pavement?”

“… damn. That would have been perfect.”

“He went through all my things. Twice. Literally the worst roommate—He made me soundproof the upstairs bedroom.”

“The flat is a place of business, and the clients don’t need to know about your sexual exploits and proclivities. This is your apology to me. Play.” He says.

“You don’t get to tell me what to—” she runs a scale quickly across the violin. “Any requests?”

“Something new.” He says.

“Wait.” says sherlock. “film.” He says.

“What?” says the worker.

“you’ll wished you did.”

“ugh.” She says, and turns her back. Sherlock nods and the worker hits record.

She plays an almost sinister bouncing trill, before she begins to play with energetic bursts. The song is lively and she moves with the music, her whole body part of the expression. Sherlock watches her closely, moving to the other side of the compartment as she jumps onto the bench, dancing around the place. The song itself comes in swirling waves, dips and turns. At one point, a change in tempo and tone startles the boys and both laugh at the humor of the sound. The song ends with a flourish as she spins at the glass, ending with a dramatic gesture, her back to them casting a shadowed silhouette.

“Woah.” Says he guy. She turns the right side of her face towards him, with the violin in hand. Sherlock lets out a “shh.” To the guy who looks at him. He gestures for him to stay quiet before his eyes are locked on her, and her eyes find him. She does a step turn into a bow before lifting up and bringing her bow to the violin, starting to play another high energy song. It has an almost sassy flair as she plays, walking back and forth in front of the glass. And soon she’s begun to vocalize, surprised the worker, and sherlock too, the sound breaking out across the room, bouncing of the metal interior bars, as she begins to move in a more gyrating manner, and the sassy sound evolves into a sultry sound, before ending, with one leg up above the bar, her back arched toward the ground before flipping back up and slipping the bow upward in one final bursting note.

“OW!” she says leaning forward and sherlock laughs at her by the glass, and then bending over as she hops closer to the bar so she can balance. “Shut up. It’s not funny. Ass.” She says.

The worker stops the camera. “That was AMAZING!”

“Oh thank you.” she says wincing as she limps toward the seats.

“Amazingly stupid.” He says.

“I got caught up. I know for a FACT that happens to you.”

“oh, for a fact?” he retorts.

“yup. It’s a fact, jack.” She says.

He snorts another laugh. “Oh that was bad.”

“are you like, famous or something?” asks the worker

“if something is no, then sure.” She says sitting, clutching her leg a bit. “ow.”

Sherlock shakes his head. “your own fault.”

“Seriously. That was incredible.” Says the worker.

“It was pretty good.” says Sherlock sitting down next to her. “You can see how her playing definitely works as an apology. Especially the last part.”

“ugh.” She says, picking up her fiddle and playing softly. “also. Shut up. and stop filming me. I’m not moving around anymore.”

“That’s it. Quitter.” He responds.

“One More!” says the worker.

“See, a second fan.”

She rolls her eyes. “tell you what, I’ll do one more, and then no one gets to talk for five minutes.”

I don’t want to talk to you anyway. You’re just the—”

“Don’t you dare.” She says.

“disport” He finishes. She smiles a bit. “One more. And then five whole minutes of silence, that only I get to break.”

“Two. And I get to film.”

“fine.” She says, standing with her back to them. She stands with her bow over, still as a statue.

She pauses and then begins to hum, surprising them a bit. It’s a soft melody, almost like a lullabye. She starts sliding the bow across the strings taking over the melody, slowly strengthening the tune, and singing a harmony, floating softly about the melody. She plays gently into the window, out towards the Skyline and the river beneath them. The sun puts her mostly in shadow, but the picture it creates of her being the silhouette only adds to the filming.

Julie’s voice sings in a warm alto, the sound unusual, which only adds to it’s novelty. She ends the song with a clear aching note that sucks the air from the room. Sherlock holds for several seconds, moving toward her face, her eyes are closed, and she slowly opens them out to the window, smiling gently before her eyes turn to him and he smiles more, putting a finger up to her lips. He stops the recording, covering the mic to muffle the noise, smiling broadly at her before they both look out at the sky, a deep orange and purple mottle.

They hear a click and Sherlock turns looking at him annoyed, and puts up a hand, before checking his watch. She doesn’t move at all for a long moment before taking her bow and stepping back a bit to play the first minute of the Fiddler on the Roof solo, turning to sherlock. “Tevye.” She says.

“I think this is higher than any roof you can play on.” he says.

“Challenge accepted.” She says.

“God please no.” he says turning away from the scene.

“HOW can you turn away from this view.”

“There’s a view on all sides, and I live here.”

“No. You live at Baker Street.”

“Ha. Ha.” He says. “You know what I mean.” he waves vaguely. “I live here in London. Seen it before.”

“I live in London too.” she retorts, turning toward the man.

“Oh my god—For three days you’ve lived here.” he says.

“Are you sure you two aren’t—”

“She only dates women and I’m married to my work.”

“Basically, an ideal set up.” she adds. “and I have been on a few dates with men. But boys have baby juice and I’m not about that life.”

“No. you’re about the get flooged and humiliated life.” he says.

“HEY. Hush. Spreading my private business.”

“Did you say private as a pun?” he asks.

“I did.” she says slowly smiling. “We should do stand-up together. We’re hilarious.”

“ummm. No.” he says.

She smiles. “So.” she says. “Now some stranger has video of me dancing like a fool.”

“Oh, the traveling troubadour has been caught on camera. Are you afraid the camera will steal your soul?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Do I look soulless now? Do you think you’d feel I if you lost your soul?”

“I think the concept of a soul is a ludicrous concept.”

“I wasn’t asking you.” she says.

“Who me?” asks the worker.

She smiles. “yeah?”

“I… well…”

“You’ve confused him.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Do you not…” starts the man.

“Do I not what?” she asks.

“Do you not like being filmed?”

“Not particularly. Which makes me a very unsuccessful performer in our modern age. But apparently I have to accept it. I have a feeling this one wanted you to fill so you’d uplink it to the interwebs or however that works.”

“You know how the internet works.” Says sherlock sighing.

“Do I? I haven’t used a computer since I was… actually since that car accident. Like six, eight years?”

“You haven’t used a computer in eight years?!” repeats sherlock.

“When in the world would I use one? I’m a nomadic vargrant. I spend half my time squatting in buildings without electricity.”

“Well not anymore.” he says. “and also, yes. Todd, do upload that. It’s about time this one get’s dragged into the modern age.”

“no.” she says petulantly. Sherlock nods.

“It really was amazing. Just… beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

She smiles. “Well. That’s very kind of you.” she says.

“Seriously. Like, if you make an album or something I’d buy it in a heartbeat. That was so cool.”

She laughs. “well. I’m really glad I played originals. I have no idea how those legal whatevers work.”

“Legal _whatevers?_ Copyright laws?” asks Sherlock.

“that sounds right. Also, shut up. and you.” she says. “if you download—”

“Upload.” Corrects sherlock. she thinks. “oh that makes sense. if you do, let him know so he can show me. On his computer since I don’t have one.”

“So you don’t mind if I do.”

She shrugs. “I have mixed feelings about it, but Holmes did bring me here apparently for the purpose of that.”

“are you going to play any more?”

“Do you want me too? I definitely can I suppose. Although maybe without cameras because that feels weird.”

“you’re really terrible at this.”

“Well _I_ haven’t had experience in front of a bunch of camera, captain press conference.”

“ugh. Dull.” He says. “when you upload it, don’t mention me.”

“why?”

“because I said not to.” he says. “and give me your phone.”

The man hands him the phone and sherlock sends the photo of the two of them to his own phone before deleting it. He hands it back and says, “you’ll get the last one in a moment. Upload the three, but don’t mention me. I don’t particularly want her riding _my_ coattails.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I guess that makes sense.”

“seriously. Don’t mention me. I don’t care for gossip in the least, and who she does or doesn’t know isn’t really important.”

“I love how you just decide that.”

“It’s true.”

“it is. I’m being genuine. Well, not that you decided. That you recognized it. I love that you just announce it.”

“better.” He says.

“What do I call you?”

“She’s the troubadour.” Says Sherlock.

She grins and waves. “hey.”

“the what?”

“troubadour. Well technically minstral might fit better. A troubadour is a French lyric poet who composed and sang between from the 11yh to the 13th century.”

“technically a Jongleur would fit best. And itinerant minstrel.”

“Oh! Very good. except it sounds like your mispronouncing juggler. We’ll keep it simple for the masses. Troubadour.” She says nodding.

“Should I write like… a name.”

“The troubadour is a name. Why would people need to know my name anyway?”

“So they can find you?”

“why would I want them to find me?”

“find you online I mean.”

“Why would I want them to find me online.”

Sherlock scoffs.

“So people can buy your music.” he says. “if you record it and put it up. People might record the audio off of the video anyway, but if you actually want money from it you should record it.”

“isn’t that what just happened. Filming. Recording.”

“I mean like an album. You could record it in a studio. I mean you could maybe take the audio from the videos and sell just the mp3s from it. That would actually be kind of cool. Really cool actually. I got to film your album.”

“interesting.” She says.

“… that’s actually a bit brilliant.” Says sherlock, who opens his phone and plays the video of her. She looks over his shoulder. “oh you have an eye.” She says, and then laughs. “ha. I told you you had an eye while in the Eye.”

“Have you got more originals?” says sherlock seriously.

“of course.” she says. “although a lot of them are supposed to have a supporting band.”

“but you do have more solo originals?”

She nods, and sherlock watches the video Todd took.

“not terrible. It could work. You upload these tonight, and only these. Still don’t mention me. The Troubadour came in with a friend. Stroke of genius decided they’d film several originals here, and release what was recorded as an album.”

“hey.” She says sounding a bit annoyed. “you know I’m right here, maybe you want to check with me before you decide—” she stops. “you dick. You planned this.”

He slowly smiles. “Maybe a little. And then, what do you say, I _rode_ the _wave?”_

She grins. “cowabunga.”

 

 


	14. Consider Yourself Booked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scrabble night ends on an interesting note.

## Chapter 14: Consider Yourself Booked.

Sherlock brings groceries up the stairs and stops when he sees the state of the flat, turns and clears some counter space to drop groceries before going back downstairs to get Julie and ‘give her a ride up.’

When they get to the foot of he stairs she stops too, as she sees the place.

“Well.” she says.

“Your father has a very serious problem with the idea of drugs.” He says to her.

“Yes.” she says. “I wonder what they did with the eyeballs.”

“Garbage.” He says.

“What a waste.” She says.

“Is it?” Says Sherlock.

“I have no idea. I assume. It’s eyeballs not olives. They aren’t the kind of thing you can get from a grocery store. Can you imagine getting those confused though?” she says.

“I once dropped one into a cup of tea.” He offers, picking up some of the items around the flat in an effort to declutter.

“Did you drink the tea?” she says in the kitchen doing the same.

Sherlock looks around, distracted as he looks for the locked box she gave him, and is unsure if he wants to find it, and overwhelmed by the slap in the face of returning to how badly all of her loved ones have reacted to him. She thinks about the pain he caused her, about how everything she said, and expressed was somewhat true. _This is Bullshit!_ Her voice rings in his head as he speaks. “I had a distraction arise, and may have taken a mouthful before I recalled it was in the cup. Where are you planning to set up, any—”

“Sherlock.” she says suddenly, and he finds she’s closed the distance quickly.

He looks down at her as she speaks.

“Thank you.” she says softly.

“for what?” he says.

She just smiles up at him for a moment. “For more than we have time to discuss, and more than I can put into words.”

His eyes look at her searchingly.

“I’m sorry for what a mess it’s all been. Literally.”

He shrugs a little.

“If this isn’t what you want—” she starts.

“No.” he stops her. “I mean no this isn’t what I had in mind. But—”

“you aren’t regretting it?”

“Are you?”

 “Things went a little differently then I expected. I underestimated how strongly people would feel. This.” she says gesturing to the space between them. “This I underestimated.” She says, looking up at him and taking both his forearms. “I thought this would be good. Great.” she says. “It’s _you._ and I _still… under_ -estimated.”

He smiles down softly at her.

“I have never regretted a moment with you, and I am sure I never will.”

“A tender notion.” He says.

“Doesn’t make it any less true.”

“No.” he says softly. “I suppose it doesn’t.” He cautiously reaches fingertips to her face. He rests his hand to her face as her own rests just over his collar bone.

“I remember—" She starts but he interrupts, rumbling out “Stop talking.” Sherlock brings his face to her own, kissing her gently. She responds to him, pressing against him as his free hand rests around the back of her arm, her hand rests against the side of his ribcage. He presses warmly to her. Everything about the embrace is warm, like heat applied to a sore muscle. A gesture of fondness, of happiness… a soothing comfort to what had become strange and confusing. The tight feeling Sherlock wasn’t aware he felt in his chest, loosens. They vaguely hear a door open downstairs, not really paying attention to anything but their own internal landscape. They both are enjoying the feeling, noting the feelings, processing them before sherlock clicks that he heard the door, and hears footsteps. He realizes and a small startle compels him to drop the embrace and turn before he thinks.

_Mycroft. Already in the know._

He turns back toward her hand to his face as Mycroft walks through the doorway.

“Oh. Am I… interrupting?”

“Yes.” says Sherlock.

“Nibbles!” she cries. Sherlock turns to her. “If that’s a nickname—”

“No look! He’s hear to play scrabble!” She says sounding energetically pleased, as she comes over. “I’ll take—” she says taking the bags and turning before seeming a bit unsteady.

“God, where ARE we going to put people?” she says looking at the state of the kitchen.

“I thought you had managed to talk the inspector into a very limited search, and that he found very little. Did a cyclone come through after he left?” Mycroft drawls out.

“Her father decided to see if he could find any narcotics hidden away.”

“He’s not my father.” she says, startling the boys a bit. She doesn’t say it angrily, just stating a fact as she puts the bags in the sink for lack of a better place. “Sorry about the mess Mycroft. We left them to it and only got back about ten or so minutes ago.”

“Perhaps I should offer some assistance?” asks Mycroft with mock pleasantness.

“I really wish I could have managed my old trunk. We could just dump things into it—No please Mycroft. I invited you.”

“Yes. Do help.” Says Sherlock. “Work over there, inwards.” He says directing. “Julie, stick to the kitchen.”

“ _That_ sounds super sexist.” She retorts.

“You said you were cooking.” Sherlock retorts back.

“… fine. I suppose I can let it slide.” She says.

“Oh _thank_ you _so_ much.” Retorts sherlock, dripping with sarcasm. “Why do we even have so much stuff?”

“It’s your stuff.” She calls from the kitchen, before turning to him. “actually, I should do over there. I have no idea what you want me to do with all your alchemy and potions.”

“Alchemy and potions?” asks Mycroft.

“Don’t encourage her.” says Sherlock as they trade places, and starts working quickly to return all the books back to the bookshelf.

“Did you have fun at the Globe?” asks Mycroft.

“Oh! did he tell you?” She says sounding pleased.

“No. The pit at the Globe has a distinct rush strewn earthen floor, with a layer of nutshells that were used to create a new surface layer. The rush lets off a particular sent. I’m guessing you must have trespassed on stage judging by the dusting on your backside, more on the left side from where you pivoted back over.”

“You realize that I now know you are pretending to help while actually looking at my ass.” She responds without hesitation. “If you want to look at my ass, there’s a time and place for that. If I can manage it, The time is Saturday, and the place would be the Reverie.”

“The what?” says sherlock.

“The Reverie.” She says. “Cute name, I think.”

“How long are you going to be out of town, then?” Sherlock asks, turning as he moves an Erlenmeyer flask to the top of the fridge.

“I’m not going out of town.” She says.

“I know every establishment in London.” Says Sherlock.

“Oh, that’s good.” she says distracted, continuing the process of cleaning up, moving with quick effinciency.

He looks at her seriously, before providing, “I know for a fact there is not an establishment called Reverie within city limits.”

She moves through continuing to clean before pausing and replaying what he said. “Ooh.” She says. “No it’s underground. It’s a part of the corridor.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a _part of_ the Corridor.” Drawls Mycroft.

“Well that’s stupid.” She retorts. Sherlock exhales a short burst of a laugh.

“Pardon?” Asks Mycroft, offended.

“That would be like saying the stairs aren’t part of the residence.” She says gesturing.

“So Reverie is a stairway?” asks Sherlock.

“It isn’t a _stairway._ ” Starts Mycroft, preparing to launch into a condescending explanation. “ _reverie—”_

She cuts him off. “GOD that’s annoying.” She says. “You could say it is. It’s a cabaret, and I guess you could say it functions like an underground station. You don’t need to be a member of the BVs for example, to get in. You do however need to have some level of VIP status to go to specific areas, and you need a BV pass of sorts to get through to the Corridor. Where does this go?” She says holding up a class encased animal carcass.

“Second from the top.” Sherlock says pointing to the shelving unit closest to the kitchen.

* * *

 

Sherlock and Mycroft sit at opposite ends of the table which is set diagonally because no one wanted to sit with their back exactly to the door. A fifty-ish attractive woman sits across from Julie, a glass of wine in a relaxed hand. Julie sits pretzelled in her chair, one knee up to her chest, the opposite ankle keeping an icepack pressed to the back of her thigh and the bottom of her backside. On her raised knee she props her draped arm, which comes up to graze across her lips unconsciously as she thinks. Sherlock watches with his hands steepled in front of him, his fingertips just grazing his bottom lip. Mycroft places his letters down proudly, laying “QUIXOTRY” across two triple word scores.

Everyone at the table makes some version of exclamation. Sybil swishes her glass around a bit as she gestures. “What even is the point?” she says in a slightly husky voice with a distinct but slight French lean.

“Three hundred and… sixty-five points.” Declares mycroft.

“One for every day of the year.” Supplies Sybil.

“How nice.” Says Mycroft with false pleasantness, but genuine self-satisfaction.

“What are the odds.” Says Julie with a rhetorical tone and genuine appreciation.

“One in five hundred and thirteen.” Say both the Holmes.

“ _Mon Dieu!”_ Exclaims Sybil. “How would you even—”

“Don’t ask how unless you’ll be able to understand the explanation.” Stops Julie.

“Would I?”

“Possibly.” Says Sherlock as Mycroft says “Probably not.”

Julie doesn’t comment but points to Mycroft after they speak, before asking “ _plus?”_ as she gestures to the glass.

 _“Oui, merci.”_ Replies Sybil putting her glass out to Julie, who stands with her ice pack in one hand, reaching—

_Ahh._

Sherlock’s phone sighs from his pocket. Everyone turns to look at Sherlock in surprise. Mycroft and Sherlock swiftly look to Julie who immediately bursts out in laughter.

“Why does that make me laugh so much?” she says to herself.

“What was that?” says Sybil.

“His lady friend.” Supplies Julie walking off.

“ _Mon dieu.”_ She mutters. “Wait, it’s her texting him, or that’s her moaning?”

“I assume both.” Says Julie.

“She’s not my lady friend. If anything, she’s your lady friend.” he comments.

“mmm.” she says reaching up to a cupboard and then inhaling sharply.

“Will you _stop_ doing that?” says Sherlock getting up. “What are you trying to get?”

“duh.” She says pointing.

His phone sighs again as he reaches for a bottle of dark liquor, and Julie starts laughing again.

“Why do you find it so funny?” says Sherlock, looking at her as she flushes.

She continues to laugh and is about to answer when another _ahh_ comes from his pocket and she falls to pieces all over again.

“Is she alright?” asks Mycroft.

“I’m guessing she’s bored.” supplies Julie. “especially if those are pictures.”

“Pictures?” says mycroft sounding almost alarmed.

“Does sex alarm you Mycroft?” she asks from the kitchen pouring liquor into two glasses.

Mycroft makes a condescending face. “Oh haha.” he says.

She turns looking at him in surprise. “Oh. Sorry. Well now I feel like an ass.” She says walking over and holding out a glass.

“What is—what?” says Mycroft disarmed.

“Bourbon’s not exactly my taste either, but it’ll do in a pinch.”

“Since when is Bourbon not your taste?” asks Sherlock grumpily.

“Since I’m not a man living in the 1950s? I’m a pirate. Pirates drink rum.” She says winking.

“You’re a performer, and I have never seen you drink rum. Ever.” He responds.

“In all the handful of days we’ve known each other? Amazing.” She responds sarcastically. “Why did you think I drank bourbon?”

“Because I’ve _seen_ you drink bourbon.”

“When?” she says.

He looks at her as if she’s lost her mind.

“What?” she says. “Are you confusing me with someone—”

“I am absolutely not. We both drank several.”

“When?” she says again. “I think I would—are you thinking of Bourbon Lancers you mean?”

“Which includes Bourbon principally.” He retorts.

She makes a face. “I mean, it’s really just to drink champagne in a way that will definitely get you—”

“You spent an _hour_ picking the right –”

“Por supuesto!” she says in Spanish. “I’m not about to ruin a champagne with a shit bourbon.

“I thought you two just met.” says Sybil.

She waves it away. “No no. We’ve run into each other a couple of times. He was at my last opera actually. For a case though, not because he _likes_ it, because god _forbid—”_

He scoffs. “WHO could _possibly_ LIKE that caterwauling.”

She looks at him with sudden understanding. “Oh. My god. That’s the reason you really had the upstairs bedroom soundproofed.”

_Ahhh._

She starts laughing again. “Oh, go on. See what she wants.”

“no.” says sherlock petulantly.

“It’s very rude to ignore a lady, especially one you’re intimate with.” supplies Sybil.

“Oh for god’s sake, _she’s_ the one ‘seeing’ her.” he says making little air quotes.

“What?” says Mycroft, before a look of dawning crosses his face.

“Shh.” She says to sherlock. “He was already uncomfortable, and that was just—”

“I’m not uncomfortable!” Mycroft exclaims, his voice unconsciously pitching up at the last word.

Sherlock looks at his brother with a level of shock. “…well—”

She kicks him, although not very hard. “Hey!” he exclaims and she shushes him. Mycroft watches the exchange in fascination.

“Are we just done playing then?” asks Mycroft.

“who could follow that?” says Sybil gesturing with her newly full glass.

Julie’s phone whistles, notifying her there’s a text from **‘nab.**

RECEIVED: **_ur on the telly_**

“Oh. I think I might know what she’s texting you about.” Says Julie pointing to the television.

Sherlock grabs the remote and flips through the channels.

“So, we really are done playing?” says mycroft leaning back.

“we’ll continue in a moment.” Says Julie, just as Sherlock stops on an image of her silhouette from within the Ferris wheel chamber.

 ** _We broke this story about five minutes ago, and since we’ve had several reports come in with people claiming to know the identity of the woman in question, currently being called The Ferris Fiddler._** The announcer speaks in quick staccato.

“Ehh.” Says Julie.

**_We have already gotten several responses with statements about the identity of the Ferris Fiddler, but none of these statements have been confirmed. My team does say that the rumors span across a large list of potential sightings and identity theories. We go live now to the worker who captured the initial video. Hello, can you hear us alright?_ **

**_… “Yes I can hear you.”_** The worker’s face appears in the split screen, showing he is telecommunicating from his home.

**_What can you tell us about this Ferris Fiddler?_ **

**_“Well… actually I’m not sure I’m supposed to tell you anything, to be honest.”_ **

**_And why is that?_ **

**_“uh… okay well… okay so this uh friend of mine texted me and h—”_** He stops suddenly.

**_Hello?_ **

**_“Right. Uh. Okay this friend of mine booked one of the private capsules, right? I’ve been working at the Eye for a while and this friend of mine asked if I could make sure I’d be with this friend of mine and that girl. Ever since that couple got arrested way back when, people can’t book a capsule without an employee there. So my friend asked if I’d be sure to be with them as a favor.”_ **

**_Did you happen to learn anything about this mysterious woman?_ **

**_“Besides that, she’s incredible you mean?”_** says the man laughing.

Sherlock glances at Julie whose transfixed at the tv, and looks a bit pale.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“shush.” She says

**_“Well, for one thing, my friend referred to her as ‘The Troubadour.’ They got into a back and forth about whether it was a fitting name for her or not, but that’s what she apparently goes by or something.”_ **

**_The Troubadour?_ **

**_“Yes. She also said she’s a…”_** He thinks back. **_“a traveling vagrant. But I think she’s staying in England now. I don’t know if that means she_ was _or_ is _one.”_**

**_What else can you tell us about the experience with this woman?_ **

**_“Well for one thing, that video is one of several.”_ **

**_Is it?_ **

**_“Yes. The Troubadour played a whole bunch of songs. Some of them were recorded, some weren’t. My friend and her actually talked about releasing the majority of what she played—you know, the originals, as an album. They’re going to see about pulling the audio from them to make them for sale I think.”_ **

**_Really?_ **

**_“I have no idea if that’s going to actually happen or not though.”_ **

**_You keep saying ‘your friend.’ Who is this friend? Is it a close friend?_ **

**_“No not a close friend. I guess you’d say we’re more acquaintances, but I owed him a favor.”_ **

**_So it was a man that was with this woman? a romantic partner?_ **

Julie groans a bit, but sherlock is already typing quickly

 _“ **well he told—”**_ his phone goes off.

 ** _“No comment.”_** He says, sounding surprised.

**_No comment?_ **

**_“No comment.” He repeats._ **

**_I see. Was there some indication the two of them were together._ **

**_“the friend asked I not mention him, and has asked me not to comment on… that question.”_ **

**_You seem surprised._ **

His phone beeps again.

**_“my friend says, “who she does or doesn’t date isn’t relevant.”_ **

**_So that’s the friend texting you now?_ **

**_“yes. he’s typing.”_** He pauses. **_“he says, ‘the troubadour would be greatly irritated that the line of questioning is about something so irrelevant. She is a feminist, and who she is/isn’t involved with doesn’t relate to her playing the violin in a Ferris wheel compartment. Thank you.”_**

 ** _I see._** says the reporter.

“The Feminist Troubadour.” Julie says in thought.

**_The Troubadour?_ **

**_“Oh. Right. Yeah, that’s what she’s called. Or, that’s what they said I should call her. Something to do with the association traveling performers have with the term or something._ **

**_Traveling vagrant._** Provides the reporter.

**_“Yeah. She said she didn’t actually know very much about technology because she hadn’t used a computer in almost eight years because her travels meant she was frequently sleeping in abandoned buildings, often without power. I don’t know if she was kidding about that or not though. She was really funny, but it was hard sometimes to tell if she was being serious or just joking around.”_ **

“Aww.” Says Julie. “He said I was funny. Tell him I said thank you.”

His phone beeps.

**_“oh. Another message. Oh! She’s watching right now. Hi! You’re welcome.”_ **

She smiles.

**_Did she message you herself?_ **

**_“No. It was my friend, but he said, “Troubadour says thank you for saying she was funny.”_ **

He pauses as he gets another message.

 _“ **He also says, ‘it’s hard to tell if she’s being serious or just kidding because it’s often both at the same time.’”**_ the boy laughs. **_“Yeah that totally sounds right. Anyway, there are actually more videos then just that one. Actually that’s like the third one she played. But it was really crazy. You see, when she played that song she made me and the friend promise not to talk for like five whole minutes after she played that one. It was crazy because there was this… I don’t really know how to describe it but when she stopped playing it was… I don’t know. It was kind of magical. I know that sounds silly but it really was. Like, religious. Does that make sense.”_**

**_It does indeed. Are we going to be seeing more of these videos?_ **

**_“Yeah. Probably, anyway. She seemed a bit reluctant at the idea at the idea of uploading stuff. As I said it was discussed that the audio might be pulled from the videos so that people could buy the songs before uploading more of them. If you’re still watching, I really hope you do that! And maybe come play in the capsules again.”_ **

**_So, you aren’t going to be the one uploading them?_ **

**_“If the Troubadour wants me to I could, but they’re of her, and it’s her music, so it seems wrong to upload more unless she wants to. Especially so because we know people can definitely get the audio separated as mp3s. Personally I hope that people at least have the option of buying the music instead of basically stealing it being the only option.”_ **

**_Why did you say you didn’t think you were supposed to say anything?_ **

**_“I think she’s just really private. Like with the whole question about if she’s dating someone. I think I might know why the no comment was requested, and it’s not for why you might think. But he is right. It’s really no one’s business.”_ **

“Well that definitely points to being gay.” Says Julie, snatching the remote to turn the volume down. “Anyway, whose turn is it? Oh, was I right? Was it her?” she says to sherlock.

* * *

 

Woman

> RECEIVED: **_That lovely ‘roommate’ of yours is on the television._**
> 
> RECEIVED: **_She’s very talented. I’m impressed_**.
> 
> RECEIVED: **_Did you film her playing?_**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> RECEIVED: **_Will you ask her what she’s doing tomorrow?_**
> 
> SENT: **_No._**

* * *

 

*Sigh*

> SENT: **_I’d have thought you would expect me to book you._**
> 
> RECEIVED: **_Is this the Troubadour?_**
> 
> SENT: **_Shhh. ;)_**
> 
> RECEIVED: **_Perhaps I wanted to book you. Consider it a professional curiosity._**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> SENT: **_Your enthusiasm has left me largely houseBOUND, (haha) and a highkick ensured it. BakerStreet, very early or very late. Your choice._**
> 
> RECEIVED: **_Will one include a personal musical performance._**
> 
> SENT: **_One you can watch as well as hear? PM._**
> 
> RECEIVED: **_Then PM. What’s your rate?_**
> 
>  
> 
> SENT: **_It depends on what you want. Professional curiosity, sampler. Call it 800 quid for the first thirty._**
> 
> RECEIVED: **_Steep. I hope it’s worth it._**
> 
> SENT: **_It’s supposed to hurt. That’s the point after all._**
> 
> SENT: **_;)_**
> 
> RECEIVED: **_Delightful. For comparison’s sake, I think at least an hour would be required._**
> 
> SENT: **_1500 for 80 min. Bring rubber sheets._**
> 
>  
> 
> RECEIVED: **_Rubber sheets?_**
> 
> SENT: **_Sheets made of rubber. Two sets. One for the bed, one for the floor. I’ve already subtracted the cost out of that price. Yes or no._**
> 
> RECEIVED: **_Yes, but what do you mean by late?_**
> 
> SENT: **_I mean if the hour could be considered decent, you’re too early. If you come tired, I’ll even let you sleep for free. Text when you’re on your way and consider yourself booked until then._**


	15. Do You Want to Get Married?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look back into Sherlock and Julie's past.

**_Twelve Years Ago_ **

**_(Almost)_ **

“Will—” started Julie as they stood in the abandoned theater.

“Don’t call me that.” Sherlock interrupted, and she waved it away.

“If you’re interested in me you actually have to say something.” She says.

“why would I be interested in you?”

 “why doesn’t really matter. But you are, so I don’t see the problem.”

 “romantic entanglements, while fulfilling for other people, are a detriment in my line of work and not worth my time.”

“so have a romantic disentanglement.” She said as if the answer was obvious. Sherlock sighed. _That’s not a thing_ he thought, but said, “I’m married to my work.”

“believe it or not, you are in fact working right now. as am i.” She said gesturing at the theater.

Sherlock had been there almost every night for weeks. He had debated at length before deciding to pose as a security officer. _Now isn’t the time for me to make a stage debut. And mummy-_ Mother- _would never let me miss a performance if I was_ in _a play._

The case at the Belle Theater had been more in depth then he had supposed. Mostly it was because, although he was loathe to admit it, he had concerns about how to go about fixing the problem with the owner. Many people would be impacted by _how_ he chose to resolve the issue, and in the meantime, there was the strange creature before him to watch. Julie Daubney. _Not her real name of course. Julie D’aubigney. Bisexual swordfighting opera singer from 17 th century France. Probably no one has even realized that she has a stage name for her stage name. Idiots._

“you’re fiddling.” He retorted.

“you’re playing _games._ And you’re getting your ass kicked by a girl, and you love it. oh, you love it so much, which is why you’re milking this case for all you can because you could have tied this up weeks ago and we both know it.” She says turning fully from him. They had been standing slightly off from each other as she mentally walked through her staging, double checking her blocking was on point with an almost lazy boredom.

She looked him full in the face, and without thinking sherlock replied, “get out of my head.”

“well I’d try for your heart, but that would be ridiculous. That’s not where love lives. Not for you.” She responds immediately.

 _“Love?”_ sherlock scoffed with derision, before looking at her in amazement. “you think I love you.”

“I know you do.” She says. “tell me I’m wrong. I dare you to tell me and be remotely believable.”

“I don’t.” he said.

“you have a tell. Right here when you lie.” She says. “and here.” She touches her own face, a place on her cheek, a place just beneath her bottom lip, on one far side, before continuing. “captain science, let’s do an experiment. What happens to your heart beat when I do this.” She took a deliberate step toward the man standing on stage.  
“Stop.” he said in a knee jerk reaction, still processing the fact that he might have a tell, that she might be able to read him quite so easily, that if she read something, did that mean she was right before she was doing… exactly what he might have considered doing if he were attempting to make the same point.

“tell me a good reason I should.” She says standing in front of him, in the closer, intimate sphere of personal face normally only reserved for family.

 “because I told you to.” He responded.

“and I’ve stopped. But tell me a good reason anyway.” She gestured out at herself, not taking another step and watching him with a patient expression that he found irritating. He paused thinking, his eyes tracking a bit as he thinks through their conversation. In his mind, he replays what happened just then, looking at himself, reviewing his own body language. He reached farther back through the weeks and does his best to keep his expression neutral. He had known he was dawdling. He had known he found ‘Julie’ interesting. Fascinating. He had known he was trying to make sense of all that he saw. _Was she acting some of what he read? Did everything he read really coexist? Could they?_ It was a paradox of contradictions. He took the invitation from her ‘patient’ expression to think more, on his own _feelings._

_Nope. No that doesn’t work._

He thought then about sensations. His heart would speed up. Sometimes it was difficult to swallow. Breathing felt faster.

_And the dreams._

_No, of course I know I’m… attracted to her. She knows it. She just doesn’t care. or…_

“I don’t need to. you already have.” He replied, all of these thoughts passing in about thirty seconds.

“did I? I hardly ever listen to what I say. what was it?” She says. Sherlock double takes at the idea that she _doesn’t listen_ to what she says. That she might not _pay attention_ to her own words when they always…

“I could have wrapped this case up weeks ago. but I haven’t.” he supplies with very little feeling.

“exhibit a in my argument that you love me, and not evidence you should be doing something about it.” she says gesturing as if to a board on a wall.

“it absolutely is. my objectiveness has been compromised.” Sherlock says turning as if to look at the imaginary board. His brow furrowed in displeasure and disapproval, as if what he read on the imaginary board was disappointing.

  
“well let me help you uncompromis’d it. I repeat, I know you are interested in me, but you have to actually say something.” She says.

“I have to finish this case.” He replies turning more, and she reaches out and stops him.

“you realize Holmes, that you are in this very moment not being objective. You do not have to do anything you don’t want to, and those two things are not mutually exclusive, nor do they have to tangle one another.”

“Impossible.”

“obviously not. Improbable, perhaps, but _you_ said, ‘when you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbably, must be true.’ I’m not stopping you from anything. you do what you like Holmes. I always will.” And I started to walk away.

“you love me.” he said suddenly.

She turned, and with a serious tone said, “how dare you tell me what I already know.” she then smiled at him slowly, the false tone and expression breaking to one of her more common facial arrangements. A characteristic mildly-pleased -at-her-own-joking expression “what’s your point?”

“why would I have to say something, but you don’t?” He says, keeping as much petulance out of his voice as possible.

She laughed. “because I’m not the one being silly enough to think love is an agreement to live a dull life. love is being in love with all a person is, not shaving off the edges and putting a person away in a box. and I know that I do what I want to, and if I want to love someone and be unaltered-- unadulteratedly myself, I will do that. because I will, Will. And I’m definitely not afraid to feel the very thing that created so much wonder in the world, because of all the things I am, a coward is not among them.” She said.

“are you calling me a coward?” asked Sherlock

“I’m daring you to prove you aren’t.” She replied simply.

“who said I’m afraid to begin with?” he asked, feeling the beginning of being offended rise up.

“You did. but it doesn’t matter if you’re scared. It matters only if you let that stop you. or if you let yourself believe whoever told you that the only way to protect yourself was to not get involved with people and remain above it all, then whoever that person is has a lot more control over you then you do of yourself.” She paused to ensure he had heard her. Sherlock heard Mycroft saying almost exactly… _exactly_ what she had just said. He looks at her first in something like shock, then amazement as he reads her again. She had just _guessed_ that such a thing had been said to him. _How could she possibly guess--_

She exhales a small breath at his reaction, and puts her hands up in a gesture of gentle surrender.  “But you asked me to get out of your head, so I’ll stop.” she says, smiling at him, her eyes soft.

“Don’t.” Says sherlock.

 “don’t? don’t what?” she says.

“Don’t. Stop.” he said as he took a small step toward her. His heart thundered in his throat. He had committed to a course he hadn’t expected to, because she was right.

“don’t stop getting in your head?” she asked as if it would be crazy for him to say not to.

“not ever. If you don’t mind.” He replied. The saying was meant to be sweet. Romantic, possibly. Appreciative, definitely. It was meant to be endearing, but powerful, and largely poetic, but she responded to it literally.

“ever is a tall order. I can’t be in your head every second of the day. I have my own life to live. No matter how much of an adventure being there is.”

Sherlock closes the space between them, looking down at her with exasperation.

“how do you manage to argue with me about what you asked me to do.” He rhetorically asked.

“I didn’t ask you. I told you _you_ had to say something, because it’s a fact.” She responds.

“what _is_ the something that I have to say?”

“what you want.” She said.

“I did that.” He responded annoyed.

“ambiguous. Try for pellucid, and preferably concise. It would likely start with some variation of the words ‘I want.’ and ends with a variation of ‘how does that sound,’ or ‘will you’ would work as well. Something along that line.”

“you are infuriating.” He replied.

“mm.” she said, almost nodding as she raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips in what could only be described as non-comital agreement.

“I want…” he started and then paused.

_What do I want?_

A picture forms in his head. They sit in a restaurant, flirting across the table at one another. He both cringes and is intrigued by the picture, because he immediately sees her pickpocketing the waiter, or ordering something ridiculous only to make him eat it.

Another picture forms in his head. A memory. She’s sitting appearing not to listen to a conversation, reading a book with the cover so worn the title isn’t legible. She kicks her leg up to hold the book, pulling a book of matches and a cigarette from her shoe, lighting it, and then telling the two girls standing behind her that they were both wrong, that the male singer wasn’t interested in either of them, and not because he was gay but because his ideal type was a Marylin and there was a girl who exactly matched it in the chorus he would watch automatically. ‘you’d have to go blonde to even pull his eyes towards you for longer then three seconds. And don’t do it. It wouldn’t suit either of you.’ All this happened and she was _still reading,_ her eyes tracking clearly across the page, onto the next before she stood up and walked without looking outside.

He thinks about his mother. How she gave up mathematics for children. For hearth and home. Thinks about meeting the demands he’d seen handed out to so many others. Be home for dinner. Do the washing up.

He thinks about all the people he has offended. The sound of… the look of not meeting an expectation. Of having offended. Of being hated for what he says. For what he sees.

He thinks about nights home, stuck. No work. The misery he might feel.

_You think I love you… You love me_

_How dare you tell me what I already know._ the smile.

Another picture forms. Several quick ones. Her embracing him, her touching him. They had touched three times in all the passing weeks. He could count each of them and remember them all. Each touch had seemed causal, but they didn’t feel casual. She was always just almost too close, but she didn’t cross farther. Aware, but not uncomfortable. But the picture was of her closing the space. Pressing to him. Kissing him. Taking her clothes off. Rolling towards him as a sheet falls away. The dream he had flashes through his mind, the sound of her breath in his ear. She interrupts his thoughts.

“is there more coming or is it just a statement that you in fact do experience the human behavior of wanting.”

“I want to do the work I love, without restraint.” He supplies. She looks to the side briefly thinking before turning her eyes back immediately and responds.

“we have that in common.” She says softly. She doesn’t actually move, but he feels the intention of movement toward him.

“I don’t see how we could both do that and possibly pursue a romantic entanglement.” He said, leaning back a bit, but not stepping back

“well perhaps it isn’t if it’s an entanglement. But as two separate individuals I imagine something fairly straightforward would work well for a disentanglement.” She said in a simple, explanatory tone.

“I don’t want to have to—” he started before she said, “Done.” As if they had struck a deal.

“what?” he asked.

“you don’t have to do anything.” she said. “literally whatever the rest of that sentence was, the answer is” She paused and looks at him to ensure he is listening. “not a problem.” He blinked.

_Not a problem._

_You don’t have to do anything._

_I don’t want to have to—you don’t have to do anything._

Sherlock was disarmed. His thoughts played what she said back, and with honesty he replied, “I want you.”

“how do you mean?” she says.

He scoffed. “for one to stop being deliberately difficult.” He said annoyed again. _You know exactly what I mean, you_ MANUFACTURED _this into being with your twisty words._

“you’d rather me be easy? Gross. And also, no you wouldn’t.” She replied.

He looked at her and shook his head. _right. Again right. Twisty words--_

“I want to find out if you are quite this challenging in the bedroom.” He countered.

“you want us to have sex?” She asked, sounding a bit surprised.

“I do.”

“Saving myself for marriage.” She replied as way of dismissing the idea.

“you had a several year long affair with an opera singer.” He throws back.

“I meant you, not me. way easier to avoid tangles when there’s only the one.” She explained.

“I said I want to, and I’d like your thoughts on the matter, not your thoughts on what mine should be or might be or have been or—"

“I sleep with women because they can’t get me pregnant. I don’t sleep with men causally because they produce baby juice—”

“Baby juice as in ejaculate?”

“I mean semen. Technically women can ejaculate. Look it up.” she says but waves it away. “So I don’t sleep with men because accidental pregnancy blah blah blah, I also have never slept with someone I loved… or was already in love with before I mean, and I don’t intend to sleep with someone I am in love with unless I’m married to them. The relationship you’re referring to taught me be very warry about sleeping with someone who might love me or vice versa but who I couldn’t see a marital future with. So, basically, I will only sleep with someone if neither of us feels romantic attachment, or if we do feel romantic attachment and are married.”

Sherlock blinked twice at this. He narrowed his eyes in thought.

“I feel like you’re trying to tell me you want to get married.”

“interesting.” She says leaning back a bit in surprise, but not in rejection of the idea.

“do you want to get married?” he asked, shocked a little.

_Married._

_Marriage- the legally or formally recognized union of two people as partners in a personal relationship. a combination or minute of two or more elements._

_Skip the dating._

_Get out of my head. Don’t stop. ever._

_You think I’m in love with you._

_You love me._

“are you proposing to me, or are you just asking?” She returned.

_You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do._

_Tell me what you want._

_I want to do the work I love, without restraint._

_we have that in common._

_I don’t see how we could both do that and possibly pursue a romantic entanglement._

_well perhaps it isn’t if it’s an entanglement. But as two separate individuals I imagine something fairly straightforward would work well for a disentanglement._

_because I’m not the one being silly enough to think love is an agreement to live a dull life. love is being in love with all a person is, not shaving off the edges and putting a person away in a box. and I know that I do what I want to, and if I want to love someone and be unaltered-- unadulteratedly myself, I will do that. because I will, Will._

“would it change your answer?” He asked

“it would not change my answer.”

_Of course it wouldn’t. If she doesn’t want to get married shed say no. If she did…_

“which would be what?” He asked. She looks at him like he’s stupid.

“yes. I want to get married.” She says.

“to me?” He asked increduliously.

“who else could I possibly mean?” She said gesturing around, her eyebrows steeple together as she watched him process.

He was quiet for a long moment, and so Julie reached out and touched him. “do you need to reboot or something?” she asked, her eyes dancing with a touch of laughter.

“you want to marry me?” he asked with disbelief.

“I’m pretty sure we just did this.” She replied.

“you’ve known me a month.” He states argumentatively.

“Also a true statment.”

“how can you want to marry me after a month?” He asked in amazement.

“it’s a mystery. And I’m not about to try and argue you into it because that’s not what’s happening.” She replied, stepping back.

“you aren’t trying to argue you me into it, or we aren’t going to get married?” He asked confused.

“as it stands in this instance, neither and/or both.”

“you want to marry me but you won’t.” he said looking at her and stepping back a small step too.

_What?!_

_What is GOING ON?!_

“Well it’d be stupid to marry someone who doesn’t want to marry me. and you were ambiguous about it.” She replied.

“ambiguous?!” he threw out.

“I’m bored.” She says looking around.

“you’re bored?!” he almost roared.

“of course I am. You know it was ambiguous, because you want to know if I will, but you are too scared to ask, or even say if you want to or not. I made it clear that I love you, and that’s all the ego feeding you’re going to get out of me. Besides, you want to think about the idea of it, and if you stay in this moment it feels like pressure and you’ll talk yourself away from it because it wasn’t you who _started_ it. If you want to marry me, and want to tell me you want to, you know where to find me. and if you want to ask if I will marry you because that’s what you want, then ditto…. And if you have other things you want to tell me you want, because there is stuff between admitting feelings and getting married… you know, traditionally, even for abstinent until marriage, then a-ditto again.”

“why would I need to tell you I want any of what’s in between?”

“because I like to hear you talk, and I love to watch you find the right words you want to say.” she said, smirking at him.

“well I WANT to not have to endlessly _talk_ about what I want.” He said.

“because you’d rather just do it?” she asked.

“precisely.” He says.

“I have my doubts about that.” she countered. “I mean you seem very inclined to do exactly as you please, except you won’t do exactly as you please with me.”

“that is the very definition of problematic.” He said.

“not when I say you may. You may do as you please. You just haven’t and seem uninterested in recognizing all that was an obvious invitation, that’s morphed into a challenge. So, let me be explicit. I challenge you to do what you want, because I want you to.”

“and if—”

“I thought you didn’t want to endlessly talk about it. Do what you like. I’m going to climb onto the roof. DO you want to come with me?”

“why?” He said, picturing her scaling the wall.

She scoffs and picks up her violin, walking backwards. “come if you like. If not, goodbye Sherlock. I hope I’ll see you again.” she pauses at the end to nod before turning, and grabbing her jacket, tossing it over her shoulder.

Sherlock stayed where he was. He replayed all that happened, moving the pieces of dialogue around like pieces of a puzzle, before shaking himself and moving around to make plans of finishing the case. As soon as he thought of ending the case, his heart sank.

_Married._

_Disentanglement._

_I made it clear I love you._

Sherlock made his way around the front of the building after about a half hour of plotting, and another fifteen minutes of pacing through the emotional gambit.  Julie was on the room fiddling. _Fiddler on the Roof._ Sherlock thought to himself. _That makes a bit more sense._ He called. “I thought you were playing Viola of Twelfth Night, not Tevya.”

“oooh. Swing and a miss. Tevya doesn’t fiddle on the roof. He just uses it as a metaphorical device. ‘Everyone of us is, is, a fiddler on the roof’!” she says the end in an eastern European accent before moving through he violin solo from the same musical, playing fast and running a thrill, ending in a flourish, before losing her balance, and sliding down the roof with slippery speed.

“oh shit!” says sherlock as she slides off, catching herself with a hand in the ledge, one hand hanging on to her violin. He climbed up onto the roof as quickly as he could, pulling up and walking unsteadily on the slope, crouched low. Julie’s hand puts the violin on the roof as he approaches, hooks a hand and walks herself over a bit before pulling herself up onto the roof, feet catching on the eve. “what?” she says seeing his startled expression.

“you—”

“don’t need your help? Nope.” she says. “I’m not really the damsel type.”

“that was supremely stupid!” he shouted. “you are seriously lucky—”

Julie stood up then, “When you climb on a roof, you risk falling off a roof.”

“then why do it?” He asked.

“because the point is to be on the roof. You think I would accept only the ground as a place where my feet may plant? I need a shoulder strap for this thing though or I’m going to lose it.” She said gesturing with the instrument and bow in her hand.

He slowly moved lower, sitting on the roof and putting his heels on the eve.

“have you ever played on a roof?” She asks.

“I don’t have a death wish.” He retorts.

“I’m not so sure of that, and how can you call yourself a fiddler?”  
“I don’t _call myself_ a _fiddler.”_

“come on.” she said and walked up the ceiling.

“you stop that right—”

“Sherlock Holmes you have some nerve insisting to cast me into a pliable helpless woman who needs you to tell me what to do.”

“you’re telling _me_ what to do.”

“I’m suggesting. Here. come on, _please._ ”

He sighs, and she puts a hand out. he looks at it briefly before taking it, and is startled when she easily pulls him up.

“delicate flowers get crushed if you breath on them wrong. Better a cactus. Grow even among stones, and they survive sand storms.” She walks him up to the ceiling. “action pose. Like captain of the ship.” She said, feet balancing. He does the same.

“if you don’t call yourself a fiddler, but you fiddle on the roof, then you might want to start thinking about changing what you call yourself.”

“you’re always saying something, and thinking it’s a saying.” Says sherlock.

“imagine if I were silent.” She responds.

“I’d prefer to experience it then imagine.”

She smiled, and gestured out across the space, before taking the violin, and playing a gentle whisper of a note, slowly crescendo-ing, before playing a simple tune, decrescendo-ing back a bit at the end so it aches out across the air, her eyes closed When she stops, the silence rings, and she doesn’t open them for a long moment. She hands him the violin. He looks at her, taking it carefully, and she sinks to the roof, one leg down as she straddles the peek, one hand on the same, the other around her knee. She looked up at him and waited.

He narrowed his eyes briefly. She gestured again out at the expanse. He looked out at the space around them. The city lights are in one direction, the country stars in the other.

He smiles begins to slur a slow version of twinkle twinkle little star, and she laughs, and grins as he plays it with more gusto before finishing the song with a flourish, and she takes his ankle as he does so, just as he unbalances a bit. SH raising her eyebrows at him and he laughs with a touch of breathlessness. He looks out at the space again, feeling at once a constriction in his chest and an uplift. He sinks to the roof, and she puts a hand out to steady him. he sits. She moves closer and fiddles with his belt.

“what are you doing.” He says, whispering.

“why are you whispering?” she says,

“hey, stop. what are you—”

“I’m stealing your belt.”

“for what purpose?” he says.

“to strap the violin, so it doesn’t slide clean off the roof and shatter on the ground. It doesn’t have arms to catch itself.”

He takes it and slides it out of his pants handing it to her. She slides it under the strings and then straps it across her chest. “voila!” she says.

He looks at her softly, and she watches him think, before taking cigarettes out of her pocket and offering him one. he accepted and she searched for a lighter, and groaning, and she puts it over her ear, and searching in her shoe.

He takes a lighter from his pocket, and gestures with the lighter, holding his own in the other hand as he lights it and brings it to  her. she leans in, but he releases the button. He takes her cigarette from her with the hand with the lighter, taking his own to tuck behind his own ear, swiftly before the hand moves to her face, kissing her on the roof. both hands are on her, the lighter against her, pinched in his thumb, before pulling away to look at her. She looks up at him pleased, and takes his free hand and moves it so she can scoot closer to him, and leans into hi,, running the hand up his coat to tuck under his collar. They kiss again, his hand cups her hip.

The touch is chaste, but they feel the tension underneath. He runs his thumb underneath her coat, and her sweater, to touch the bare skin beneath.

She shivered.

“you are trouble.” He said.

“so we’re a perfect match.” She smiles wryly.

“mm.” he says. “how do we get down?” he asked.

She grins and flips her leg over, taking the cigarette from his ear and putting it over hers.

“I don’t know how you get down, but I do it like this,” she says sliding down the roof, catching herself and going clean off it.

He waits to hear a crash but it doesn’t come and he watches her hands scoot before hearing her drop onto something. He carefully scoots to the edge and sees her standing on a closed bin, hopping down and again.

“lighter?” she calls, open palm up. he tossed it and she caught it and lights as he comes down. she tossed it back and he catches it lighting his own, sucking it down.

She steped to him and reaches into his coat, pulling the notebook and pen. She writes something in it.

“what are you doing?” he said. She hands him his notebook.

_Thank you for a lovely evening, Fiddler Will. I hope to see you again very soon._

_Julianna Rosamunde-Dawson._

“rosamund-dawson? I can see why you’d use Daubney instead.”

“that is rude, and do you get the reference?”

“obviously.” he said.

 “good night miss rosamund-dawson.” He says walking away.

“it’s mizz. And it’s just dawson.” She calls. “my identity does not change based on marital status. You would do well to remember that. Goodnight Mister Holmes.”

He turns to nod, and raises a hand to his brow, to fingers to his forehead in something like a salute or a tip of a hat.

 


	16. Changing Associations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the early hours of the morning, Julie catches Sherlock awake and likely watching her sleep. Sherlock raises a question and the two discuss 'wanting more' in their relationship.

## Chapter 16: Changing Associations

Sherlock turns to his wife in the early dawn hours. _Here she is. Here._ He remembers thinking the very same thing the night she came home with him, but not with such conviction. This woman— _No. Girl. At her silly insistence._ This girl he met so many years ago, who surprised him. He recalled thinking that he never was able to tell if he liked surprises or not because so few people had been able to accomplish carrying a surprise out without him catching on. New, yes. A good twist, absolutely.

_Twelve years… yes fine almost twelve. Eleven years ten months and change._

In twelve years he had known her much the same way he had upon first meeting. Indeed, much the same way he had knew anyone he met. He saw. And every set of deductions he seemed to find clarified so little.

And he loved it.

The first time he met her he had read her street life of drugs and brawling. The fighting was a bit odd for an actress, but less so for a person who habitually visits establishments where illicit narcotics were in high frequency use. Even so, he read but one with some classical training in music playing that had begun to slide. She had the telltale-tired eyes, the still overheated dampness to the back of her neck from a night on MDMA. She stood ready to assume a protective fighting stance easily, and unconsciously planting her feet and stabilizing so she could move with sudden speed while being unlikely to become unbalanced. The muscles in her hands and arms, the slight tilting of her shoulders indicated her music habits, the strain to her wrist telling of playing with a lazier form. The hardness to her fingertips, the ‘violin hickey’ showing through on her collarbone and neck, although less so at her jawline. He read all of this on her, working through what he was seeing when she interrupted his thoughts to speak. A stupid silly thing of course, and yet also, in a way, on point. She had said, “what, do you see something you like?”

Sherlock had immediately begun to process what he had seen. But then Julie had spoken. First, and obviously was the American. American South-South west specifically. _Fur not for._ Not overly unusual. But there was something deliberate in her constants. Trying to stop a blending of sounds, and not entirely succeeding. French. Not Louisiana French which would make sense. Not Canadian French which would almost make sense. French, with a Swiss flair. He looks again at her dress and notices the detail of how well her clothes line up with her zipper line. Uniforms. Private education. _Expensive_ private education. It explained the musical training, the theater training, the voice training. But the street rat thing… the homeless kid traits were there. The way she ate food. Small appetite, defensive pose when eating, lacing her boots around her ankles with multiple knots so her shoes wouldn’t get stolen while she slept. Childhood malnourishment affecting the growth of some of her bones, and giving her the thin, almost androgynous look, stemming from late puberty triggered by a lack of essential vitamins and low body weight. It seemed extremely unlikely that a young child would have received such an expensive education abroad through scholarship. Not impossible though.

He looked again at her shoes, which she used in leui of pockets. She had cash there, but not very much. A couple of matchbooks, a small knife, and a heavy cash card. Very heavy. It had been there for some time, possibly sewn into the lining. Her pockets, One… Two passports in her coat. Two. Cigarettes. Her belt, worn from a tab for… a sword? _Is that for a sword? Does she routinely carry a sword? Why would she carry a sword?_

“Just wondering of your other passport was Swiss or French.” He had replied. “and where you leave your sword when you’re here.”

“Oh.” She had replied, looking at him more closely. “Do you want to fight?” she asked.

“What?” He had responded. “Why would I want—”

“swordfight I mean. Well I guess, would it be dueling? I think dueling isn’t friendly by nature exavtly although it’s probably close since people did engage in dueling to settle wagers. Or to restore chivalric honor, which does _not_ apply here. If you suggest fencing is what it would be called, then your absolutely wrong. mostly because what is the point of flinging swords about at another person if your going to dress like a pillow in a beekeeper hat and not run the risk of drawing blood? Sport my ass.”

Sherlock laughs slightly at the memory and she stirs next to him but curls a bit and doesn’t awaken.

_Twelve years._

Things started to make a lot of sense now.

_Sold herself._

He shakes his head a bit. _She sold herself out of foster care and homelessness. Did that cost something to do? To see yourself like that, and do it anyway? Is that why you don’t really care about dancing in your underwear? Or pretending to be a prostitute?_ The echo of her insistence that she is ‘a gift’ and not something bartered or sold rings in his mind. A sore spot. And tomorrow night the Woman would be here, buying time with her to do God knows what upstairs.

He squirms a bit in the bed, uncomfortable with the rush of blood that traveled to below his waist at the thought. He remembers her washing her hands and face. The scrubbing. The sound of irritation… possibly even disgust. But he also remembered seeing that moment when she seemed interested in what the Woman was saying to her, naked in his—in their living room. He heard them after all. He knew what was… well she said it herself. There’s almost always some bit of truth. But he could tell what was being _massaged_ and what… what wasn’t. What was a genuine reaction. And some of it… Some of it he couldn’t be sure because he had never heard Julie make sounds like that before.

He wasn’t bothered that he hadn’t heard it before. Not exactly. He had never been remotely bothered by her interest in women. At first he had assumed, like so many before him, that she was a lesbian. She wasn’t though. She’d told him as much. He had researched her a bit, and asked around or eavesdropped to the gossip that surrounded her. He asked her about the relationship.

“What I don’t understand is if an Italian taught you to sing opera, how is it you show such different characteristic traits within your vocalizing?”

“An Italian didn’t teach me to—have you been listening to gossip Will?”

“Don’t call me—”

“Have you?”

“I had heard some rumblings about your homosexuality. Not that it escaped me when we met.”

“my what?”

“Homosexuality. Lesbian orientation.”

“I’m not a lesbian.”

He had scoffed.

“Oh for the love of… look not that it really—” she had stopped and looked at him. “Sherlock, I’m bisexual. I actually would argue I’m more attracted to men. Normally I wouldn’t correct the assumption, but I thought you would have deduced it. My first words to you were technically a… come-on.” she winced. “a tease? flirtation? Somewhere in that vicinity.”

He hadn’t said anything at the time. Not immediately. When he did respond, he said, “I had figured you were commenting on my evaluating the deductions I was making about you because it might have appeared I was staring.”

“tease. That I think is best. Obviously I was commenting on your staring. But it was flirtatious. I mean, you must recognize that.”

“I recognize it was said _like_ a flirtation, as a joke. I had no reason to believe it was some kind of… invitation. Not when you had obviously been with a woman not hours before.”

“Well don’t assume a person’s sexuality is always going to be so one-sided. It’s a spectrum and I am blessed with a broad range.” She had said winking. “Get it? because of—”

“yes yes. I get it. Puns are the lowest form of humor.”

“Oh Will. How can someone who shares the same namesake as the Bard himself hate on word play?”

The conversation morphed into a repartee about word play in general, and jokes. She had even managed to get him to tell a joke. One he had particularly liked while at university and had fully expected she wouldn’t get since it appeared her education ended when she left boarding school. He was surprised when she did get it, and was more surprised by the merriment she got from the experience. So he told another.

Things were beginning to line up. The mysteries were revealing themselves before him. Julie, the woman who Sherlock had to work at getting a strong foothold of understanding on, and yet seemed to get or at least get along with so easily, was suddenly being revealed to him in ways he never expected. He wasn’t sure he liked it. The story was fascinating of course. But… the emotional reactions to it. She had cried. The only tears he had ever seen her shed were in laughter. Now she was unsteady. Emotional. Puking from a panic attack was obviously something she had experience doing because she covered for it so well, and was able to do it quietly. A twenty-odd year old friendship so probably started at boarding school, and he had never heard of him. This man who was supposedly in love with her the whole time and who put his wife through a wall. _Reason’s be damned there is no reason for that being acceptable._

He flashed to her handing her friend the bullet from the gun and smiles a bit at the memory, looking again at his wife.

 _I made you happy today._ He thinks to himself as he watches her for a minute. _but I also—_

“Why are you watching me sleep?” she says softly, startling him.

“Apparently I’m watching you pretend to sleep.”

She rolls over. “I was asleep but I woke up and could tell you were sitting up. since it’s dark, you were either sitting up while asleep which I find highly improbable, deep in thought, or watching me.”

“Or just sitting up because—”

“ _are_ you having trouble sleeping?” she interrupts with his own thought process.

“Well I’m not asleep.” Sherlock responds.

She starts to sit up, and even in the dark he can see the pained expression.

“no.” Sherlock prompts, putting a hand to her and sliding down to rest his head on an elbow. She rolls onto her stomach, tucking the pillow under her chest and chin.

“So, why exactly—” she starts but he interrupts her this time.

“I’m not sure if you’re behaving strangely or if I just don’t know how you normally behave.” Sherlock says. His tone softens a bit. “Almost twelve years is a long time to think a person behaves one way to find them not.”

“You’re talking about the crying?”

“ _One_ of the odd behaviors.” He says. “or one I thought was odd for you.”

“No you’re right. It is.” She says. “A lot of powerful variables. But I could return the same idea back.”

“ _I_ haven’t been—”

“Guilt.” She says pulling herself up a bit. Sherlock is still.

“I’ll quit crying if you quit feeling guilty.”

He laughs once, soundlessly and shallowly, the bed hardly moving. He rubs his lips together as he thinks before saying, “I think they are both involuntary.”

“Well I find the self-administered guilt trip offensive.”

“Offensive?” he repeats in question.

“Yes. Personally offensive.”

He looks at her curiously.

“I’m not about to regret any of our relationship. How many times are you going to think that I was forced into accepting the way _we_ set up our relationship? Did you know I’ve seen the Northern Lights in three different countries and two different sides of the world? I’ve seen several of the quote ‘wonders of the world.’ I wasn’t sitting around pining, waiting for you to ask me to move in. I—”

“I have.” He says.

“You have what?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Pined?!” she says.

He continues not to answer.

“Wait.” she says sitting up. “Were you waiting around for me to—”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” He says.

“You just—” she says looking at him before huffing.

“Do you want children?” he asks her, interrupting what she might be about to say.

She turns to him and blinks. “what?” she says softly, almost barely audible.

“Do you want children?”

“I _just_ moved in.”

“I seem to recall a certain someone making a point about not arguing over the semantics of why one should or shouldn’t want something, but just say what you do want.”

She blinks at him again.

“Do you want children?” he asks.

“Oh, don’t do that.” he says annoyed. “I asked you first.”

“But I don’t know why you asked at all. You coud—”

“Would why I am asking, or if I do or don’t change your answer.”

“I don’t know.” She says.

Sherlock makes a frustrated noise. “Julie. Do you want to have children?”

She says nothing.

“Do you need to reboot?” he says mocking her.

She laughs once. “I do need to reboot I think. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Ever?” he says.

“Not directly.” She says.

“I don’t think that’s true.” says Sherlock. “I think you have.”

“I always just dismissed thinking about it with any seriousness. Of course, I did. You work, I travel—” she cuts herself off and then looks at him with a look of annoyance.

“Oh you shit.” She says.

“What?”

“That is absolutely the wrong reason to have a baby.” She says.

“What is?”

“Because you aren’t really working anymore and are struggling with staying clean without the work.” she says matter-of-factly.

“That’s not…” he starts but stops.

“You don’t really think having a baby would make it _easier,_ do you?”

“I think without challenge I unravel.” He says. “but that’s not why I ask. I just realize I don’t really know anything about you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you know—”

“How much more do I not know?” He says. “Because there’s been a lot—”

“Stop.” she says. “okay, fine. It wasn’t relevant early on, and then I thought I’d hold on to the whole, ‘who am i—it’s a mystery’ bit because it’s not like I was going to commit a crime to give you a case. But knowing all those little things about me doesn’t mean you don’t know me.”

“Do I?” he asks.

She looks at him with something like…

_Fear. She’s afraid._

“why are you afraid?” he asks.

She makes another annoyed noise. “I don’t know sherlock” she says sarcastically “why might a wife be afraid when her husband expresses a belief that he doesn’t even _know_ her? You saw how I reacted when we had the divorce misunderstanding.”

“Now who’s being ridiculous?” Says Sherlock.

“Both of us.” She says widening her eyes for emphasis before sighing. She flexed a cheek, her lip twisting in thought, a short soft hum coming from her. Her eyes seem to glance back and forth, not tracking the way his does, the way hers has done before. She replays the conversations, moving the pieces around.

“So.” she says after a moment. “point one, you are concerned about the amount of surprises. You want to know my thoughts on children to some extent because of this point. Point two, you wanted… How long did you want me here? Have you been waiting for me to say something about it?”

Sherlock seems… almost startled.

“No?” says sherlock without meaning to raise the word up. he clears his throat and repeats it. “No. of course—”

“the first was honest.” she stops him. “I see. Well.” She clears her throat a bit. “Sherlock, I think we both have occasional trouble following our own thoughts. But when I am following them I am fairly skilled at dismissing a line of thought, especially when I am happy, and I know you have what you want. It didn’t occur to me—”

“Not even when I was shot?”

“obviously when that happened it did. It more than did. I almost blew it apart on purpose because I couldn’t stand it. But I know I survived my accident without you being around. You were alive. You would technically recover more quickly—” she stops herself again. Her eyebrows come together in thought again, surprised by something she is thinking.

_I made a choice not to try and tell him I’d been hurt. I thought he’d put himself in danger if he knew to see me. blow his cover. He loves me. He’d do something stupid if he knew._

“I wish—”

“don’t.” she says. “Sherlock, don’t you dare shit on what we have with wishes and remorse. Our relationship isn’t a haunted house. It’s not a place for ghosts to live. What matters is what is, and what will be. And we did what we did because we love each other without shaving off the edges.”

“isn’t that what’s happening now then? Me putting you in a box—”

“no. You told me you wanted it and asked if I would. I set my rules. I was happy before, I’m happy to be here, and I’m excited for the future. Of course, I’m happy to be around you more.”

“and what about wanting more?” He says.

“as in children? Or something else?”

“… I don’t know.” He says after a moment.

She smiles. “of _course_ you will always want more. Satisfaction is always fleeting for you. It is the way we are most different. I don’t know if I want children or not. I have to examine the idea.”

“you don’t just… know?”

“I don’t know why I was a baby that could be sold. I don’t know if I was wanted, or taken, or given up, or thrown out. For all I know I was found in a rubbish bin. Children…” she says softly. “On children I can’t get a clear picture of how I feel. I don’t know. I think I do need to run through the whys to know how I might—”

“If I said don’t bother getting the contraceptive when you go back, and we tossed the prophylactics… We aren’t exactly young anymore.”

“You’re a crime solver who pisses off—”

“so is john technically.”

“Whose child isn’t here at baker street. I didn’t realize he had a child because it seems that maybe he doesn’t see his child as relevant to his impact here. Why that might be is a bit of a character concern in and of itself.”

“Don’t do that.” He says.

“Do what? Judge your friend on his parenting?”

“…yes.” he says annoyed.

She is about to say something but stops herself. “Hmm.”

“Do you remember when—” she starts.

“probably.”

She smiles. “You remember the night you fiddled on the roof with me?”

“Obviously.” He says.

“And before.”

“Of course.”

“This conversation reminds me of that a bit.”

“because you’re talking yourself out of it, or because you want it but if we continue you’ll feel forced into it because you haven’t evaluated it yet?”

“I—” she pauses. “Well… I guess it could be all of them. I’m not sure. but also, because if I do, and this being how it starts kind of robs me of getting to ask.”

“But you don’t ask for more. You’re ‘satisfied.’” He replies. He isn’t petulant, just matter of fact.

“Do you really want to get into the nitty gritty of having kids at… two in the morning on a Wednesday?”

“The day doesn’t matter, and I just want to know if you _want_ to. Why is every conversation—”

She puts a hand to him to acknowledge what he’s saying.

“I’m not sure.”

“how can you not be sure? You always know what you want.” He says.

“because it isn’t simple.”

“I thought getting married wasn’t simple but you—”

“No I mean how I feel about kids isn’t simple.” They’re both sitting up now. She takes a deep breath. “okay. Let me tell you something else you don’t know. But so help me god if you start making that remorseful face—”

Sherlock’s face shows something like fear. _I did something. What did i—_

“well nevermind then.” she says.

“Never- _nevermind?!”_

“You look—”

“Stop worrying about how I _look_ and just tell me what it is.”

She takes a deep breath. He looks even more concerned and she looks even more irritated.

“Will you just—”

“I don’t actually want to have this conversation.”

“you told my parents we’d talk about children—”

“I told them to calm down about it because we hadn’t yet. And that’s not—” she bites her lip and clears her throat, steeling herself.

“Sherlock.”

“Julie.” He retorts.

She grimaces a bit and then laughs at herself for it.

“Will.” She responds, and he makes an annoyed noise. She smiles softly at him. “What I want is for what I tell you to mean you don’t start treating me differently. I don’t even think all of it will come as much of a surprise, thanks dad.” She says. “So, I want you to hear what I’m saying, but not get distracted by the details. I’m telling you this because of how it relates to children, and my feelings about them. Will you do your best to just listen and then…” she trails off. “I can’t say forget it but—”

“If you weren’t doing all this dancing around we’d be past—”

“Foster care.” she says. he blinks at her. She’s put a hand up. “Foster care was…” she deliberately opens her hands which had started to fist up. “It was a bad experience. the salt for example. That wasn’t Dad who would threaten me with it.”

Sherlock’s face shows understanding. _Oh, right. Yes, a classic addict foster parent abuser._

Sherlock’s face turns to one of almost boredom and she smiles. “Oh thank Christ. Yes. That. be bored by what I’m telling you. That’s perfect. Right, so I was passed around a lot. And of course, the being sold, and then returned… I basically saw a lot of people who thought they desperately wanted to be parents who changed their mind. Who didn’t even care that they did. Or who wanted to be parents for the wrong reasons. So not being sure about it makes me instantly want to distance myself from the idea and dismiss it entirely which I know means that I don’t actually let the desire take root. Could I want it if I didn’t uproot it every time it peeked out of the soil?” she shrugs.

“This is what you wanted to say about it? Well I suppose—”

“no. there’s more.” She says. He can see the reluctance on her face. She clears her throat again. “The accident.” She says. “The one I was in.”

“The one your father was angry about me not showing up after?”

“yes.” she says. “The big one. I told you I had some problems after.” She pauses again. “When it first happened, I wasn’t even with Cal. It’s part of why the adoption pushed through because he couldn’t find me, and wasn’t allowed to visit me since he wasn’t family. So then he became family. And yes, Dad was pissy about you not being around, but that’s not really important. When it happened, I wasn’t with Cal. No one knew who I was. I woke up, paralyzed as Jane Doe.” She cringes. “I started out as Jane Doe, but I insisted on being Julianna. I don’t think I told you about that. It was… It wasn’t the name that first family I can kind of remember. It was my first word supposedly. It was my nanny’s name apparently. I’d hear it more than whatever stupid name they gave me because they’d call for her. Well actually her name was Julia-Anne. When the social worker said they had another Jane Doe, I asked for Julia-Anne in whatever baby speak I managed and they thought it must be my name. Same initials of course. So, then I was Julianna Doe. I started talking in basically sentences shortly after being put in foster care, and so they questioned my age pretty heavily, just as family one had done. And I started being…”

She pauses.

“I told the social worker that Julianna wasn’t my name. I explained who I had been asking for, and that I wanted to know what my name actually was. I became Jane Doe again and got placed in the worse home of the lot. When Momma and Daddy Dawson got me, I had serious problems. Sylvia did want kids. She knew she wanted them. She said she wanted a kid who needed a parent and the social worker warned them against me…” she smiles a bit softly. “She fought for me actually. She was the one who decided it was time I be Julianna again. That I be Julia, the person I was asking for, instead of Janey.” She cringes harder. “Jane.” She corrects. He watches her face close up as she starts talking, even her voice sounding different. Tired. Empty.

“Jane was a paranoid, neurotic child with obsessive and compulsive issues because she was told she was _dirty_.” She looks at sherlock. “She got salted. And her foster father did very bad things to her. Sylvia spent the money they had planned to use for my adoption itself to pay for therapy. And of course, the strange combination of very dark humor and deliberate choice to decide boxes weren’t really the right place for children, both for categorization and for leaving them.” she says, half joking. “The years I spent as Jane were terrible. I got thrown right back into foster care as Jane Doe after adamant insistence that my name was not Jane and to please stop. When the first home I was put in turned into something nasty, I ran away. I sold… Well you know the rest. But it wasn’t about just not needing to live on the streets and accept I wouldn’t get a better life. I didn’t want to be assigned that shit anonymous name. And there I was unable to move or speak as Jane Doe again.”

She bites her lip.

“I couldn’t move for a long while. Not the top half of me. I mean I did have a cast on so that was part of it.” she pauses. “actually, I should mention this. So dad is pissy… if you make guilty face—”

“just say it.”

“dad is pissy about the accident because you’d been on the news in the bar. He thinks I was freaked out about it and that’s why I was so drunk and confrontational to begin with. and that I had been freaked out by it, which is why I was alone drinking in the first place.”

“is he right?”

“not to the dramatic level he thinks it was. Of course, it wasn’t a particularly easy part, but I did know it wasn’t actually true. No, I was there because it was some backwoods town and there really wasn’t anything better to do, and because Cal had a boy in the room. But anyway, Dad thinks that. Dad knew that it freaked me out being classified as a Jane Doe again, not able to say anything. I mean I was in and out of consciousness, and they still thought I was comatose but responsive for several days. I’d been responsive by increasing degrees. And it freaked me out not being able to move. This is what dad knows.”

She pauses. “I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. Half the time I couldn’t even open my eyes. But I could hear and I could… feel. I couldn’t respond though. I couldn’t communicate or… fight.”

Sherlock looks at her concerned. Something dark presses to the air.

“There was an orderly.” She says.

“Stop.” says sherlock.

She looks up at him. He opens his mouth once and shuts it. Then a second time, pausing before saying. “What does this have to do with…” he trails off. “Men can get you pregnant.”

“yes.” she says. “Dad thought it was yours. He didn’t tell Cal about it. I told him I lost… it. and that i didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Who was this—”

“I don’t know. I saw only glimpses of him. Once they figured out who I was it stopped. But sherlock, you’re getting distacted by details—”

Sherlock stands up.

“What hospital.” He says.

“I’m not done.” She says.

“There’s _more?!”_

“When I said I wasn’t going to the hospital again unless someone was dying, this is why. I refuse to be a patient if I can help it because just entering one causes my heart rate to soar. It’s not exactly… well maybe it is rational. I wasn’t afraid of them like I am now until then. I didn’t really _like_ them ever though because I know there are almost always Jane Does somewhere in the building, probably at least one in the morgue… it makes my skin crawl. But babies are born in hospitals.” She says simply. “Babies are born there. I would have to go to a hospital. Probably a lot if I got pregnant, considering my heart especially. And that… well panic. It’s very bad for babies still under construction.”

Sherlock looks at her from where he stands, searching her words and then her face.

“You’re telling me this—”

“as it relates to my understanding of if I want a child. I can’t separate out what I want from that fear. No. rephrase. I haven’t yet. I don’t know what I want without all those other bits being considered.”

“you had an abortion?”

“Chemical one, yes. First chance I had without my dad in the room I asked if they’d run a pregnancy test. Dr. patel said, “no need. You are pregnant. We have you scheduled for—” She pauses. Again. “Well I lost it. I asked him not to discuss it with my father or the friend with me, but that I wanted to abort. That if I told my father I lost it, not to correct it. Dad is fairly religious actually, so it was easy enough to play it as being concerned he’d disapprove of… that.” she says.

“What do you mean you lost it?”

“I mean if you thought the crying you saw was out of character I’m very glad you weren’t around to see that. The definition of inconsolable. The police were called, just cried. Evaluated by the psyc department, just cried. And begged to be let leave. I told dad that being in the hospital freaked me out. That I had a phobia about being there and the whole jane doe thing…” she shrugs. “and with the idea that I lost the baby… I told him you didn’t know about it, and I wasn’t going to tell you because it didn’t matter. He wasn’t happy. But what was he going to do, call you? I was incredibly thankful he didn’t have your contact details.”

Sherlock’s face gets more progressively more angry as she talks.

“So, let me get this straight. You _don’t_ think I should have—”

“you were pretending to be dead to protect your friends. I was the easiest target I have ever been in our relationship, or in my life in general. It would have been stupid and risky for you to suddenly appear with claim to me. The whole _point_ was to _avoid_ just such a thing happening. You weren’t supposed to need to worry about me, you not being there wouldn’t have made a damn bit of difference—”

“not a DAMN—” he starts to yell.

“Shh. Mrs Hudson.” She says putting a hand out. “Sherlock, please. You would have found this man, murdered him, and I still would have been assaulted. I still would have had to abort it, I still would have been a wreck and spiraled. Except you would have been there to watch it all happen, having blown one of the single biggest cases of your career to watch me fall apart and put myself back together. How many potential lives do you think your actions involving tearing apart that network might have saved? Three lives would have almost been guaranteed to have been lost, and don’t make excuses because I would never be okay with you gambling with your loved ones’ lives to try and fix something that wasn’t going to be fixable because you couldn’t make it _unhappen._ It happened. It’s in the past.”

“what about the other possible victims—”

“Stop” she says suddenly desperate. “I can’t think about that. I couldn’t go through some lengthy and public look-at-the-victim court case. I refuse to feel guilty about it because I didn’t do anything _wrong.”_ she says her voice cracking a little. “I can’t—” she stops and looks up. “god DAMN it.” she says louder than she means to. “fuck you.”

“Fuck me?” he says.

“Yes fuck you. I don’t—god DAMN it, this was supposed to just be about how I have all these things that pop up and make it hard to see about if children are something I want because it brings up influences that are twisted and can twist or disguise how I feel, but now I have to admit that you’re fucking right. I knew there was someone at that hospital doing that and I didn’t do anything to stop it and there are probably—” her tone speeds up faster and faster as she grows hysterical.

“Julianna. Stop.” he says. “okay. stop. breath.”

“but I didn’t do _anything!_ Who else—”

“stop.” he says walking around the bed and kneeling down in front of her, putting both hands to her arms. She startles a bit under his touch but relaxes as he returns his hands to her with more pressure. “stop. What is it you said. Our relationship isn’t a haunted house?”

“but I didn’t—”

“if you had perused a case, my mother would have contacted me and I would have done exactly what you said.”

“oh my GOD.” she says irritated. “my failure to do what I should have has nothing to do with _you.”_

“it does a little.” He says.

“for fuck’s sake.”

“Do you want me to look into finding who this person was?”

“I…”

“and not tell you what I find. And not mention you if it comes out.”

She pauses before shaking her head. “no. I mean, yes you can look into it. I just—I’m afraid you won’t be objective if you get involved yourself.”

“no. Well it would be fairly easy to ensure if we find him that he ‘disappears.’”

“We? oh you are _not_ going to tell John about—”

“He is a doctor, who has seen you naked.”

“That’s _not_ the same thing—”

“and I meant Mycroft.”

She goes pale. “whuh—”

“he has connections in the CIA.”

Sherlock can imagine the gears in her head which had slowed to a stutter flip directions and speed back up, and she tilts her head.

“I’ll help you find the records. But if we can avoid…” she pauses and then shakes herself. “you know what? actually I don’t think I would have to worry to much about him looking at me like I was made of glass. It seems more likely Mycroft would think I was playing you to carry out a hit then think I was some sad, broken thing. I’m not, by the way.” she says.

“Well, obviously I didn’t think so.”

“Just in case. It seems prudent to ensure I don’t fail to mention. But I do ask… actually I realize I can only ask you not to share things I tell you. I don’t really have control over that—” she stops again noticing something.

 _Annabelle._ She thinks to herself. _hypocrite._ She chastises herself.

 _You kept her secret because you know the feeling. You put it on her to tell other people. That’s not hypocritical. It’s exactly what you’re asking for. Besides, John isn’t_ your _friend. Not at this point anyway. Possibly not at all. He’s very wary of me. Not that I’m not—_

Sherlock interrupts her thoughts. “but you would like me to leave out your… run in with the case, unless it becomes prudent to share.”

“Yes. well put.”

“Send me the information to the case through email. Anonymously.”

“DO I know how to do that?” she asks.

“If you don’t we will need to remedy but I seriously doubt you don’t know how to send an email.”

“mm. No that I know how to do. I should twiddle about on a computer at some point though. Enter life ‘on the grid’” she says absentmindedly.

“mm.” Says sherlock.

“I’m okay.” she says, her eyes snapping to him. “I mean, the hospital thing is something to work on. And that last part…”

“you really do find it difficult to do nothing about a bad situation.”

“about one where I have a responsibility—”

“you don’t have a _responsibility_ to do anything about what happened. You were right before. You didn’t do anything _wrong.”_

Her breath hitches as air whooshes into her. A knot somewhere in her chest loosens. It’s not the feeling of a weight lifting. It’s the feeling of weight. Some part of her feels embraced and comforted, a sharpness pulled out and bandaged. She nods once and looks away.

“you didn’t do anything wrong.” says sherlock softly.

“you didn’t do anything wrong.” she repeats her eyes snapping back to him. “ _you_ didn’t do anything wrong.”

 _You didn’t do anything wrong._ it echoes in his mind. The tightness that had been constricting his air beats once and loosens a bit. Raw emotion floods in through the space.

“You have nothing to feel sorry for or about. And even if you did, I would forgive you. You aren’t the only person surprised by what they are learning. We missed things being apart, but that doesn’t mean it was wrong. I think it was right. It was all right. And I won’t let anyone convince me otherwise. The only person who even has a chance of making me believe it isn’t is you, because you’re the only person in this with me.”

“Am I?”

“Of course.” she says softly. “do you really feel you weren’t?”

He doesn’t respond as he stands and walks to his side of the bed again and she pivots to follow.

“What if I ask for more and you don’t like it?” She said as he starts to get back onto bed. He pauses for a moment in the process before laying down as he speaks.

“Then I’ll say no.” He says.

She nods and smiles. “okay. But asking for more doesn’t mean I’m dissatisfied. I want you to remember that. Will you try to remember that?”

Sherlock’s eyes hold hers as he nods once before looking off into the dark of the room, his back against the wall.

“It’s too bad.” he says after a moment.

“What is?”

“That all your twisty romantic wording is wasted on me. I’m sure others would be quite moved.”

She smiles.

“What’s really too bad is I still don’t know what is compelling you to talk about children.”

He doesn’t respond.

“I answered you as best I could. But you’re phrasing makes it sound—”

“yes.” he says simply.

“you want children.” She says. She turns more towards him as she speaks, understanding that what she says is the yes he meant. She asks “do you want—” but sherlock interrupts.

“John gave me a lecture after a particularly difficult case, which was made so much more so because Mary had left me a case to ‘pick a fight with a bad guy. But yourself in harms way. go right into hell.’ All of this in an effort to ‘save John Watson’ from his misery at losing her.” he pauses here. “I had received a message from the Woman wishing me a happy birthday. Up until then he hadn’t realized she was even still alive, let alone in touch. I assume he deduced I rescued her from her beheading in Karachi, and assume he believed that meant I possessed some form of sentimentality about her. He asked if we had ‘nights of passion in high Wycombe. I told him I don’t text her back and began the bit of romantic entanglement…”

She smiles at the memory, and he does a little too.

“He interrupted me to tell me it would complete me as a human being, to which I said I didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, and he told me to reach out. “text her, call her. Do something while there is still a chance because that chance is gone before you know it.”

_Before you know it._

“it was a difficult conversation. John made a confession. That he had engaged in texting with another woman. That he had “cheated on her.” The parallels were… poignant. I told him it was just texting. Even I text. Woman, bad idea.” He says repeating himself. “and I told him it was an unpleasant thought, but we might all just be human. He said, “even you.” I returned even he was.”

He pauses here.

She opens her mouth but then stops herself.

“Yes?” says sherlock.

“Resisting getting distracted by the details. Unless—are you changing the subject?”

“Should I be?” he asks.

“I want to know more about your thoughts on children. It’s the big-ticket item for discussion.”

He nods once, and takes a breath to start but stops. She tilts her head.

“you aren’t angry about the woman?”

“Did you have a baby with her?” she asks.

“What?!” he says. “No. of course not! It was just texting.”

“well what you were telling me sounded lovely. I don’t understand how all those bits relate to the subject at hand.”

“Don’t you?” he says.

She thinks. “are you asking me to deduce the connection?” she says.

“I’m asking of you can…” he starts. “but—”

“you just got distracted by a detail, yes. Well I don’t want to assume, so please continue. You said you had told him we might all be human, he asked even you, you countered even him.”

He nods but says, “the point was also that John had encouraged me to ‘do something while there was still a chance,’ as it were. There was also a good bit about finding someone, a romantic partner, who encouraged one to be the person one _wants_ to be.”

She listens closely.

“There is one person, and only one person who had a particular talent for starting discussions about how one can engage with life first by knowing what one wants, and not really accepting that one has to ‘shave off the edges to fit into a box.’ A person who decided that the box is a myth, and that the walls, i.e. commonly accepted expectations are not even remotely binding. Like walls made of fabric that move easily, or even taken down and moved about.”

“a tent.” she says absentmindedly. Sherlock starts a bit before being struck by the loveliness of the perfect metaphor.

“mm.” he says. “that is very fitting.”

“is it? isn’t the point not fitting?” she says smiling.

He rolls his eyes.

“So…” she says.

“So, I asked myself, who do I want to be. What do I want. Not what do I think I _can_ have. Not what I am… cautious about. Just, what do I want? You of course know my thoughts about having a chance to be there should your heart cease to beat, which apparently is more likely then I had previously suspected. I don’t know how I missed that.”

“details.” She says softly.

“Be with someone who encourages you to be the man you want to be, while there is still a chance. I also thought about what there is still a chance for. There is a fighting chance for the morbid. But there is a specific chance that has a time limit. Biology does make it progressively more difficult to conceive. So I asked myself, with that chance, which is still a chance as far as I can tell, regardless of if I think it ‘wasn’t possible’ for us as our relationship had been, is it a chance I don’t want to see go away without having done something. Do I _want_ more? Do I just _want_ it?”

“and you found the answer to be yes.”

“I found that there is a part of me that wants it yes. What I really found was that I wanted _you._ I wanted you _here._ I have never cared for Christmas.” He says suddenly seeming to switch. “but I know you do. I _do_ want Christmas with you. and yes, I want a Christmas with you, and a child to quite possibly wake us up early Christmas morning. I once set a man-trap for father Christmas. I wonder if a child of mine… of ours would have such an inclination. Or if a child of ours would possess the wonder you show at Christmas music. Lights. I imagine it would be likely.”

Her eyes have turned a bit inward.

“I am satisfied with you here. I’m fine if you do not want children. I don’t know if I would be disappointed we didn’t have them though. Not if we didn’t try at all. But if, say, we threw out the idea of preventing it, and it happened. I would be…”

_Terrified._

_Overwhelmed._

_Panicked._

_Warmed._

_Thrilled._

“I would have both anxiety, and excitement, I believe. Given what you’ve said I imagine I’d be… tremendously anxious. I had hoped…”

She tilts her head. “you had hoped?”

He declines to answer.

“That for two people so capable of planning, we might leave that choice up to fate? We might just let it play out without deliberate interference. But possibly without the effort and investment of things like fertility planning and therapies. I’m in my thirties Sherlock, I’m not on the cusp of—”

“the statistic possibility of natural conception begins a gradual but significant decline at 32, and at 37 the pace of decline becomes increasingly more rapid.”

“And the likelihood of miscarriage, or children born with special needs increases. Children who might be—”

“Do you really think so little of me?” he stops her. She stills.

“My perspective is warped. But no. I suppose I don’t. But you wouldn’t—”

“I would never reject my own child, no. In some cultures, children with various ‘special needs’ are seen as closer to God. The bless’d citizens.”

“you don’t believe in God.” she says.

“No. but the woman once said I was damaged, delusional, and believe in a higher power. In my case it was myself.”

She laughs. “well… that is fascinating. And I suppose any child of yours would then be a ‘bless’d citizen.’ As someone closely related to the higher power you believe in.”

“you could say that, yes.” He says.

“You would be happy if we were childless though? I mean now that you know you want this?”

He adjusts a bit. “I put a lot of thought into this—”

“obviously.”

He looks at her annoyed but continues. “My thoughts, which you yourself put so well… actually, how did you know that my proposal was going to be to not look into fertility treatments either?”

“Deduced. There were two options, one being throw them out and see what happens, and two, throw them out and make a concerted effort with serious commitment. You didn’t express the kind of set desire and absolute sure yearning that that type of committed effort would birth. Not yet anyway.”

“Early thirties the chance of conceiving within a year is around 86%, and it drops to about 78% for mid thirties. There is a fairly good chance without additional financing, should we decide to track ovulation, which we both know I’ll pick up on in no time automatically. It would be quite a bit of effort to conceive accidentally. Even so, _I_ want to just go about things otherwise in whatever normal fashion comes about for us. Enjoy the lack of latex and otherwise think about it if your menstrual cycle is late.”

“Except if you know when I’m ovulating automatically and I don’t, wouldn’t that be stacking the deck?”

“there’s about a fifteen to twenty percent of conception every month if we engage in copulation during the ovulation window. If you are around thirty-five. Since the assumption is that you are in the 32-35-year age group, given your development at the time you entered the foster care system thirty-two years ago. As I said, I put a lot of thought into it. Even with IVF—”

She puts a hand up. “So you’re managing expectations with that proposal. But if I want children as well you can afford a bigger investment.”

“I’d say it would be stable. It’s one thing for me to have basically little to no disappointment. It’s another thing entirely to have you be disappointed. Twenty percent chance each month. Your history creates a bigger swing to the emotional response. Your father’s impending death broadens that swing even more.”

She blinks.

“that… is a way of putting it.” she says. “yes. that is true. And you are trying to give me an out from the possible disappointment. But you also do want to try. So you’re starting with your wants, which also includes not seeing me…”

“heartbroken.” He says without thinking. “yes. I’ve seen quite enough of it, and it was worse than I imagined it could be, and I have no desire to see if that particular stimulating circumstance would produce an even worse output.”

“heartbroken.” She says. “hmm. You’re right. It’s too bad romantic statements are lost on you.”

“not… entirely.” He says.

She nods, and takes a deep breath. “well, you’ve given me a lot to ponder.” She says.

“mm.”

“a tent.” she says softly. “that…” she narrows her eyes softly. “adler.” She says.

“what?”

“adler. I really don’t want to be doing this thing with her. Not because it isn’t entirely horrible, because it isn’t, and you know it isn’t. Because I want to be here with you though and it is a distraction I resent. It is the best course of action, but it feels… dirty.” She says the word with some ugliness. “it makes feel like I’m dirty. And I chose that word deliberately. Unfortunately, doing nothing isn’t an option I want to accept. Mostly because I really do have trouble doing nothing and I’d rather feel dirty then feel… careless. Especially given the nature of what she is mixed up in. Am I missing some way of… negotiating those apparently contradictory—”

“why does it make you feel dirty?”

“because I’m luring some girl into my bed under false pretenses, including false feelings, while putting myself in a situation where I am restrained and submissive with someone I don’t want to be. Nothing about being beaten and tied up by this woman, willingly undergoing her sadistic tastes when she does NOT walk boundaries. And the parts that were… enjoyed make it all worse, not better and it is taking a tremendous amount of self-control to not get in the shower and try to scrub it away. And of course it’s also sidelining the reason I’m here, which is to establish married life with you. Fucking bullshit.” she says her tone lifting, her voice growing slightly louder. “I can’t forget that I’m not supposed to stretch out my legs or be careful with…” she gestures vaguely to her backside. “without running the issue of making it worse, but every time I think of it—” she makes a noise of annoyance.

“I will remind you of something you said to me. That is you don’t have to do anything you don’t wan to.”

“thank you.” she says softly. She looks at sherlock briefly. “do you forgive me for…”

“doing my job?” he says.

“and going farther with it then you would have. Or possibly would have felt you needed to.”

“Not for passing the case on to my brother.” says sherlock. “the first murder in weeks. The first truly promising one in almost two months.”

“what about the boy.”

“apparently found.” Says Sherlock.

“Well. Sorry.” she says. “but you do know he—”

“yes yes.”

“you could ask him if he has anything you can help with.”

“Ask my brother if I can be of assistance in the case he’s stolen from me?”

“Could we use the withdrawal method?” she asks.

“the… wait what?”

“could we use the withdrawal method. The pull-out method.”

“You aren’t talking about the case anymore.”

“no. I had an idea while you were complaining.”

“hmph.” He says a bit miffed. “well. Yes, I suppose we could, at the very least during ovulation if that feels like it balances—”

“I meant tonight.” She says.

He blinks. “you aren’t supposed to—”

“Everything came clean for the first round and it would be a risk to you. Of course, if I was unfortunate enough to have contracted an incurable one we would probably both get it.”

“not necessarily true. They have medications that drastically help with preventing the passing of such diseases. HIV. Herpes Simplex.”

“So no. No that’s fine. I’d still like to engage in the act, if you’re open to it.”

“with the injuries you have received, I am not even remotely—”

  
“hold.” She says. “the idea that I had was this. I do not want to have to constantly be reminded via associated memories of how I received these injuries and the chain of triggers that it lights up. I can however, intend to change the association. And, as you know, we have always used the barrier method, i.e. condoms for penetrative male to female genital intercourse. It would be a first, even if you withdrew for your finale. One I have been looking forward to, which is why I was looking into contraceptives. A discussion of children, several impressive romantic turns of phrase, getting to have a new first with you, sooner then planned. Whatever pain happens to pop-up, even for protected sex, would still be an excellent and different association. I completely understand, given what you just said that you would like—”

“are you even in the mood?”

“a different mood.” She says. “but I am… moved. By all that you’ve said. I am very moved. And I just like the idea of using the less effective method while I mull it over. Should I decide I don’t want children, I can always begin pharmaceutical contraceptive.”

“and if the less effective method resulted in something while you’re mulling it over.”

“then fate may have stepped in. If absolutely necessary, we could… well we could explore our options. If that’s where we land on it. but… I think I believe in fate more than you do. Dad is religious and some of that did stick.”

“That is unfortunate.” He says.

She laughs slightly. “Yes. I am far more prone to quixotism. I fell in love with and secretly married a man I only knew for three weeks and have been happily married for over a decade. I spent my life dressing up in costumes and galivanting around the planet. A lot of strange coincidences have happened since we’ve been here. You yourself told me the universe is rarely so lazy. If the twenty percent, mitigated by the additional whatever percent of the less effective method, is not enough to prevent the universe from bringing about a child between you and me, then I don’t know I could bring myself to argue with it. Especially if it leads to a little one who may set a trap for Santa Claus. One to wrap up in a blue scarf when it’s cold outside.” she says, her eyes wet with the thought, her face softly pressed into a melting expression of endearment and tenderness. Her eyes turn back to him and his expression is one of something very close to surprise.

She climbs to his lap, covering what wince tries to break through. He automatically brings his hands to her and she leans down. Their lips meet, and his hand moves up to lace in her hair as her does something similar. She presses closer to him as they both unexpectedly feel themselves move from the heartfelt, gentle gesture to one that is deeper. Fiercer. Their mouths move to working against each other as their bodies press closer.

The pain between her legs, across her backside, from back to thigh, it just creates a harsher edge to her breathing and her pursuit to be consumed by the man whose lap she is in. The less restrained, less playful seeking is so different from their usual way. They play has disappeared. Her impish humor that colors everything she does has fallen away. Watching it fall away throughout the past several days was difficult and confusing. Uncomfortable. He would be lying if he hadn’t started to feel something like doubt watching her break expectations.

_Knowing someone doesn’t mean knowing everything about them._

This was his Julie. It might not be the name she was originally given. He might not know that. Or where she was from, or how she came to be. He didn’t know… so much. But he did know her. This was his wife, who looks at him with all seriousness as she insists he not feel guilty for not being there for her. For disappearing. Someone had done the unforgivable to his Julie. But she was not broken.

_Better a cactus._

She was still herself. Under all the mess. She was the woman who kissed his throat before wrapping a blue scarf around his throat. _So you think of me when you wear it._ She had wrapped it around his throat for him. _Ties are constricting and uncomfortable. Scarfs are warm though. Scarfs from your wife more so. Call it a domestic gesture. Merry Christmas Husband Will._ Every year she would send him a scarf. Except the three years that their contact had to be cut completely. But she still bought them each year. She wore each of them in their time apart. They had smelled like her for many weeks when she gave each of the three to him. The smell of bulk soap, of instrument wax, wooden trunks, leather, smoke, talcum powder, and her natural scent underneath was always something like a floral tea. A naturally homey, feminine, and warm smell that fit with everything else. A hint of honey, and warm mint. Of clean water, a touch of woodiness and the slightest hint of spice.

The raw emotion can be felt passing between their bodies as sherlock lifts the shirt she wears to bed, before returning immediately to her, leaning her back onto the bed without thought to placement, her body running across the bed diagonally, as he pushes her panties down. Her breath catches as he moves the panties over the welts, but it increases the fervor again. He moves to her throat where the warm scent always beats the smell of everything else, and also elicits a soft moan. He presses his thumb to the bottom of her jaw to push her head out of the way, and grazes her jaw just beneath her ear, before moving to her throat. She groans a bit and he pulls away, so she helps pull his shirt over his head and he pushes his pajama bottoms off and to the floor.

They embrace, the warmth of their skin pressing into each other. The kissing slows as the inevitable passion leads to sex itself. They slowly pull their faces apart and look at each other, and she bites her lip. The playfulness is back. It has returned to her eyes. But it’s something more too. Warmth. Love.

Sherlock reaches a hand between them, moving up on an elbow and slides a finger inside her, noticing a swollen lash on her. He can feel the raised bumps where the woman bit her.

“Don’t.” she says. “I’m okay, but skip that part.” she says.

He clenches his jaw and before he speaks she stops him. “this is just us right now.” she says looking at him.

Sherlock touches her more, feeling the signs of aurosal before running a hand up her side, up to her ribs, almost lifting her with his firm palm as he kisses her again, working to her nipples, firm but gentle. Slow, but not reluctant. The lingering pace of knowing exactly what he is doing. Her breath was already beginning to grow ragged, and it grows more so before is on top of her fully. She feels him rub the head of his cock between her lower lips, and her eyes snap to him.

“Sure?” she says.

He slides the head in carefully, slowly, deeply and they both let out sounds of pleasure. Sherlock is careful, deliberate with his movements, but he can hear the pain behind the noise she makes and he slows down more.

“Oh don’t go slower.” She says softly.

“I don’t want—”

“I can get on top if you like, but you’d have to tell me…” she says.

“maybe next time.” he says, moving again and she groans a bit. He pushes inside her, and she urges him again to go faster. He hears the noise of pain but then he feels a deep, _deep_ swelling, and the next noise is one of definite pleasure as well, her breath faster, her gripping more unconscious. He continues the pace and the squeezing around him grows intense, her moaning accelerating, louder, higher. “Will.” She says softly in his ear as the squeeze grows, and he groans above her. at the sound of his groan she makes another noise and she begins to spasm around him. It isn’t different, and yet it is so different from what he had felt from her before and he almost doesn’t catch himself as he groans over her, pulling his mind to a calmer place to last longer, but as she finishes he too feels the rush and pulse of orgasm and the n ejaculation, pulling himself out quickly as it starts but not quite as quickly as he had intended, not catching himself because he hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly, nor did he expect it to happen without some ability to stave off. The first pulse happens as his head passes through, the second just as he exits her, as the rest of them pool between her legs.

He groans as the orgasm ends, panting a bit out of mostly surprise, and she seizes above the pool.

The first shot she knows he didn’t manage to pull out quick enough for, but the feeling of it… She will remember that always.

“I didn’t quite—” sherlock starts, sounding a bit embarrassed.

“oh god.” she says softly. It isn’t a comment on his timing, but on the sensation. She laughs once a bit, her hand up to her hair, he other falling to her diaphragm as she catches her breath, a smile finding its way to her face.

“watch the…”

“puddle?” she says softly, laughing before carefully sitting up and rotating.

“I’ll get a towel.” He says.

“why?”

“because you were in the puddle’s line, and you might want it.”

She lays down, keeping her legs to the side of the puddle as sherlock gets up and pulls a hand towel from the bathroom, handing it to her. She looks at it for a long moment as he holds it out. in her mind she sees the man who told her she was dirty, throwing a towel at her. But sherlock holds it out and the face disappears. She takes the towel. Sherlock looks at her curiously.

 _No my love._ she thinks. _You would think it was bad that I saw him. But he disappeared because you aren’t like him at all. That’s the point. You would get caught on the detail and miss it. So I won’t tell you._

She wipes up and then leans carefully to clear the puddle. Sherlock takes over before tossing it aside. Sherlock pulls his own pajama bottoms off and she snatches his shirt when he picks it up. He smiles as she slides it on.

“I had heard that women steal their men’s clothes. I had hoped you’d be above that though.” he says climbing into bed.

“Mine’s far away. You can steal my clothes too. What’s mine is yours.”

“ugh.” He says. She ignores him and curls up next to him. He automatically opens his arm out to her, and she scoots into him, pulling the sheets up in her own automatic gesture so the dampness of skin to skin contact doesn’t cause strange sticking.

“you were right to say not tonight for me being on top.” She says after a moment. She looks up to him and the impish look dances in her eyes.

“you’re making fun of me.” he says.

“Nooo.” She says before smiling.

“Is this your way of saying ‘it’s alright you were a bit slow on the draw.’”

“Well put. Yes, it is.” she says.


End file.
